I sit in a quiet, creaking house. In front of me photos flash scenes of what feels like an impossibly long time ago, yet it is inexplicably only twelve months… the birth of Harvey Hughes.

It is my favourite time of year. The air thick with the scent of the burst of showers, copper and gold leaves dance across the carpeted earth, the last lingering echo of summer resounds – growing ever more faint as the days slide past.

Last year I absorbed little of it. Aching, swollen, mind in the grip of a thought spiral. How am I going to do this again? Will he survive? Will I? I’m just. so. tired. 

It was everything I feared, and more. The chaotic birth experience that all went wrong with hours of being in shock afterwards. The final labour that somehow combined all of the worst elements of the others in one agonising and painful sweep.

And then day dawned and with it a shift in perspective and a profound sense of gratitude for a healthy, beautiful baby boy. My body began the process of re-knitting itself and I began to feel as if we could thrive after all.

A year of Harvey has been the best possible thing for our family. His sense of ease and calm has rubbed off on us and we have slowed right down to accommodate for his needs. He is universally adored by his siblings and he mirrors their gaze, body bouncing in uncontainable joy when he first catches sight of them each morning.

We found the transition from three to four remarkably easier than I expected. With Harvey’s impressive ability to transition and stay asleep during naps and the very convenient car pick up zone at school we managed to work around feeding times and figure out new strategies of doing life. The shift in the family was felt most with the older three stepping up a little and looking out for each other (in between the usual sibling squabbles, of course).

There were difficult times interspersed – health problems for all of us, x-rays and ultrasounds, consults with paediatricians, ENT and orthopaedic specialists. Feeding issues, emotional outbursts, that entire month where the norovirus took us all down in slow motion. It was the shadow, the dark side, the exhale.

On Sunday we gathered family together and celebrated all that this year has been. The first birthday party feels more like a dawning, a we actually got here moment. Harvey has witnessed each season for the first time now, we endured the initial sleepless nights and each day marks the end of an era – no more bottles, a baby who can move around by himself. Each moment feels like a familiar door easing shut for the final time. Bittersweet.

I completely stole the woodland theme idea from my sister after we threw her a baby shower a few weeks prior. The magical feel (and the sense of utter convenience) lured me to dive into the forest again, this time with all the wonderful recycled decorations that we had used the first time around.

It is very possible that (apart from the parmesan chicken meatballs) the majority of the food was hardly what a one-year-old would request for his birthday. (Then again, one has to take advantage of the years when they can’t really tell you what they want yet. I’m sure there are far too many years of party pies and sausage rolls in my future!) Fig jam, goat’s cheese and walnut crostini; caramelised onion and mushroom tartlets, bruschetta crostini, charcuterie board, burek, and ribbon sandwiches (thanks Mum!). For sweets there were strawberry shortbread cheesecakes, toadstool and green moss cupcakes, a rustic raspberry and lemon curd tart and a black forest ‘log’ cake. Creating the spread would have to be one of my favourite parts and I secretly love hearing that people skip meals before coming just so they can fit in all the food!

One of the highlights of the party was the way all the cousins played together, disappearing into the warm light of the afternoon and navigating classics like What’s the Time Mr Wolf and chasing games. We barely saw them until it was time to cut the cake. The moment when Harvey realised all his favourite people were singing for him was priceless – ducking his head, giving alternating looks of cheekiness and shyness and dancing his chubby feet across the benchtop.

In the spirit of complete disclosure, it is true that sometimes the chaos threatens to overwhelm us and if you happen upon us just before a party you will undoubtedly witness the strain as the list of tasks looms and tempers burst. It is a small price to pay. When the glitter settles, the crumbs are swept away, when the empty glasses are lined up to be scrubbed clean – we are unfailingly deliriously happy (and tired!). Life is meant to be celebrated – moments marked and savoured together.

What a year it has been, what a pleasure it is to have Harvey in our family. We are inordinately, unequivocally grateful.

…

Dear Harvey,

Your smile lights up the room. There is a sense of joy within you that spills out onto all of us. Inescapable, delightful – you sweep fresh air into thick spaces.

I love the way your whole body moves in response to music, the quiet tones that you sing and then duck your head shyly when found out. Sometimes the chair sways beneath you, threatening to burst under your enthusiasm.

You are filled with passion and determination. I see that sly glint in your eye when you throw yourself towards the boundaries – testing, prodding, pushing. Even my most stern voice fails to elicit anything other than a huge grin from you.

I wonder at who you will become, the promise you offer the world. There is power in you, my son, a charisma that is understated but firm.

If there is only one thing you understand with absolute clarity, let it be this – you are absolutely, unconditionally, fiercely loved.

Always and forever,

Mum