‘When is my birthday, Mum?’ Harvey asks from the back seat of the car as we wind our way home via autumn-brilliant roads.

‘Tomorrow,’ I reply, glancing back in the mirror to see his face remain perplexed.

‘But how many days?’ he presses.

‘No days, just one sleep,’ I clarify, but it doesn’t seem to help.

‘So…when is my birthday?’

The conversation continues, though I’m not sure I ever manage to communicate the surprisingly complex concept of ‘tomorrow’. Nevertheless, understanding eventually dawns, along with the break of morning light, and a very excited Harvey jumps his way through multi coloured balloons and streamers, marvelling that the day has finally arrived.

…

We spent some time away with Dave’s side of the family a little while before the big day, and the holiday became the perfect opportunity to throw together an impromptu birthday party – both for Harvey and his lovely cousin, Mikaela (who was delighted/surprised to receive a very significant birthday present four years ago when a certain baby chose the same date to make his grand entrance). We took favourite food orders from the two guests of honour (hot dogs, berries, chicken and chips), and picked up some cakes to share (chocolate cake and a Spiderman-themed creation).

My days of meticulously planning epic birthday parties have tapered off recently, partly because of the tricky combination of dates with all the family gatherings around Easter, but also because we are about a month away now from moving house. He missed out last year too, due to ill-timed lockdowns, so I suppose we shall have to make it a mega event for birthday number five!

After a whirlwind morning of opening presents (including Super Mario Lego, new clothes, a Bluey house and some figurines), Harvey was a little bewildered when the noise suddenly ceased, with all of his siblings piling into the car to go to school with Dave. He blinked at me sadly for a moment but then was quickly distracted by the new toys and the prospect of morning tea with Grandma and Grandpa. It also helped that we made up a plan of things to do (yes, that does say ‘wiggle my butt’).

The day passed quickly with lots of little treats, and he even got to go to school pick up with his Dusty onesie pajamas (complete with gum boots and a raincoat due to the torrential downpour) because, after all, how many more opportunities does he really have to get away with going out like that? Then it was time for a pizza dinner with Nanny and Pa, along with an odd assortment of dessert requests (boysenberry and caramel ice-creams, and chocolate and pineapple donuts).

Four years of Harvey has been pretty incredible. He genuinely gets along with every one of his siblings and they, in turn, appreciate his company. He’s happy to go along with many of their outlandish games (mums and dads, trampoline basketball – ‘I’m going to be Lebwon’, and fencing/fighting with Eli – Mask of Zorro style!) and is a joy to bring along on errands (most of the time!).

He has survived a number of hair-raising incidents (his birth, Hudson placing him on a high bar stool when he was about six months old and letting him plummet to the floor, the infamous slide incident and, most recently, pulling the full weight of the table tennis table onto himself while he was hanging off the mini basketball ring that the boys had set up to hang on the top – ‘I was just dunking!’). Yet somehow, each time, he shrugged off the injuries without much fuss. (I, on the other hand, almost had a heart attack each time).

I’m very conscious that this year will be one of the last I really have enjoying Harvey’s company during the days, with the Kinder/school train hurtling towards us at a breakneck speed. It is considerably bittersweet to only have one child at home now, and to know that soon he will be launching off into a world of independence.

Looking at life through the eyes of a four year old is a considerable privilege and I’m so grateful to get to share all these special moments with Harvey. It really does go by in the blink of an eye.

…

Dear Harvey,

I can honestly say that I have thoroughly enjoyed each stage of your development. You have such an easygoing nature, filled with good humour and wit, and you always know how to make us smile.

I love your cheeky streak – the way you tilt your head down and raise your eyebrows, making it almost impossible to say ‘no’. I love the way you reach your arms out for cuddles each night (after the mandatory performance of ‘Bare Necessities’). I love your thoughtful questions (‘how was your sleep, Mum?’ ‘how was your day at school, Hudson?’) and your uncanny memory for details. I love the way you put one hand on your hip and tell a story. I love your passion for mandarins and kombucha.

You are already a leader, with an undeniable strength of character that makes others pay attention to you. You influence your siblings and (mostly) seem to understand the precise moment of when to give in and when to stand firm on your demands. Although, hopefully you will soon outgrow the need to give offended squawk of anger to those outside the family who have the audacity to say ‘hello’ to you…

The way you pronounce things often makes me smile (‘ganks’ for ‘thanks’, ‘gobbles’ for ‘goggles’, ‘sun scream’, ‘for goodness fake’, ‘whizbee’ for ‘frisbee’, ‘that’s okay, I forgive your apologies’, ‘varmite’ for ‘marmite’, and ‘gummy bear’ for ‘camembert’). We’re still working on those ‘l’s’ and ‘r’s’ but I love how you are always willing to sound it out again when I prompt you.

You are a burst of sunlight, a flicker of fire. You are a ripple in a glittering pond on a warm summer’s day. You are toasted marshmallows and cosy slippers. You are the sweet burst of a raspberry and the fierce glow of sunset.

You make our family complete, Harvey. We cannot imagine life without you.

Love forever,

Mum

xoxo