A Letter To My Firstborn.

Dear A,

So here you are, about to turn 18. I thought I would write you this letter to tell you a few things about you, me, and us.

{We all know you love to talk, but for now just listen.}

Back in 1993 your father and I went to Europe for our honeymoon. Two weeks in Paris was apparently enough of the romance and flowers because we then spent the next six months roaming all over a very cold and war-torn Croatia. But when we finally arrived home we brought something magical with us: the new life that would become our first son.

Despite about seven months of daily vomiting and a full nine months of nausea I was super excited about meeting you. I immediately had that gut feeling that I was having a boy, which was what I really wanted. I also had your name chosen early on, but had to use some reverse psychology on your father to get “him” to choose it. I was way too young to be having a baby, as evidenced by me reading violent fiction a la American Psycho for hours on end in the ante-natal clinic. But it was all a huge adventure and I wasn’t worried for a single moment. I pictured a chubby boy with big eyes and big curls. Pretty spot on it turned out.

Finally the time for your birth rolled round, and well, the less said the better. It was long, you had a big head, and I’ll leave it at that.

You know how most people say how beautiful newborns are? W e l l, not so much. You pretty much looked like an old man. But still beautiful to me. Even though I did have a bit of a giggle at your scrunched up face with the too big features you were obviously destined to grow into.

So there we were, two absolute beginners without a clue about anything. I was so young, following my instincts, crossing my fingers, and doing my best.

It wasn’t long before you had a brother, and I was so happy when he was born that you two would grow up close, and be best friends. It’s weird when I look back now. All of my peers were still at university, heading out into the world, travelling, building careers, and meeting lots of diverse people. I knew all of this at the time, knew I was different, but my life at home with my two precious boys was the only place I wanted to be. I always had the sense that I was doing something special. I honestly loved each day that I spent with you two. I totally had a crush on both of you.

Of course, the three of us became four when your sister came along, and by then you and Ante were almost ready for school. I still remember your first day of school. No tears, no clinging, you left me feeling a bit useless when you headed off without a backward glance. I guess the box of Lego’s was all it took.

I’ve learned that being the oldest child {as me and your dad both also were} isn’t just about breaking down the barriers for the siblings after you, but for us as parents it was also our first time facing all of those tests and trials. So while you might have had it the toughest, it was because I was just protective, and reluctant to let go because I didn’t trust anyone to care about you like I did.

Right now, with one brother only a year behind you, your sister in full teenage hormonal swing, and your baby brother in pre-school, I can honestly say that you have been the easiest.

You’ve always been a good kid, a good brother, and a good friend. You’ve made your father and I so immensely proud countless times over the years, and as you work towards your HSC we are already proud of your hard work and dedication regardless of your final results.

A first child is always somewhat the parents’ guinea pig, and we would do some things differently if we could. You didn’t need such tough discipline, except maybe when your mates pulled our computer apart. But the learning curve that is life has been pretty good to all of us, and I look back with no regrets, only with a crazy amount of heart swelling tenderness.

Thank you for teaching me so much about the kind of mother I wanted to be.

Thank you for your big beautiful eyes. Your golden baby curls. Your big smile. Your amazing capacity to talk. Your heartwarming laugh.

You tower over me these days, and I love it.

I can’t wait for our mother and son dance at your wedding.

I love how you look with a platinum blonde mohawk.

I love you.


  1. And you look young enough to be his sister! Beautiful letter…I’m sure every parent will relate to it. Off to catch up on your other posts.


    1. Thanks Cathy. It was very from the heart.


  2. I dream of the day I’ll be a mother. This is so heartwarming, thank you for sharing.


    1. Thanks Maria, all the best of luck to you.


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