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Dear Finn

The other day you were rubbing your Dad's nose with your finger. Your Dad was somewhat suspicious about the smell emanating from said finger, and thence from said nose. Unfortunately for him, his suspicions were confirmed far beyond his horrified imaginings when you told him proudly that you'd wiped your own bum when you did poos. You were very excited about the fact that you got a little bit of poo on your hand and EVEN a little bit of poo on your pyjamas! But that's OK you said. Uh huh. I think the things your Dad said are best not repeated.

It's a bit of a sad fact of my life, our lives, that this blog is getting harder and harder to write. Not that I don't have things to write about, it's just that I never seem to find the time, if I can say that without sounding totally pathetic and whiny. When I started this blog, 4 years and 99 blog entries ago, it was to document the small daily parts of your life that I was sure (correctly) I would never remember. I started it the day you turned one. So for four years of your life and the entire lives of your siblings I have been trying to create a string of memories that my mind is incapable of forming for more than five minutes or so. I read the older ones and already don't recognise my own voice, so I'm hoping you will read these when you are older and see that your Mum did at one stage actually like to spend time with you and wasn't always preoccupied with nagging at you to get dressed and put your shoes on, or constantly involved with folding, hanging out or bringing in washing. Life in this last year has (mostly) become a long series of repetitive minutiae, with only holidays or visitors to remind us that we still form a small part of a larger universe.

So in thinking of you reading this sometime in the future...I hope the future Finn won't take this the wrong way when I say I am looking forward to you hugely going to school next year. And your sister to kindy. And your brother into some kind of soundproof container (yet portable and stylish).

To illustrate: we have just got back from a trip to the supermarket followed by an excursion to buy a new fish for our Mr Siamese Fighter to glare at through the glass partition. The whole way was....I want to hold something, can I hold the yoghurt? (followed by a girlish echo) can I hold something? I want to hold the Weetbix, punctuated by random squeals from the front of yon pram holding as yet non-speaker. He undoubtedly thought he was articulating quite clearly which premium grocery items he would like to hold, hence the squeals getting louder and louder in disgust at maternal non-compliance. I was shuffling things around from small hands to big hands with such speed (as the Weetbix went from Item du Jour in one second to leprous the next) that at one time I fell into the daydream I was at the circus juggling the cereal aisle with the crowd. Shopping while juggling just ain't fun anymore.

So then...onwards to the fish store. I thought I had worked out the perfect compromise....there was to be one fish chooser and one fish carrier home. Of course you confound me (why would you not?) and you and Holly both decide that fish carrier is HOT and fish chooser is NOT. Ug. But then on your own behest (while I was lying in the middle of the road willing a truck to run me over), you decide to share both the choosing and the carrying. Absolutely astounding in your naivety if you thought Holly was going to have anything to do with compromise, but good one for trying. I've since erased the journey home from my memory, but be thankful we now have new fish at home, in tank, alive. It's a miracle, praise be. By the time you read this we will no doubt have repeated this process many many times. We don't seem to have too much luck with fish.

But that's all by the by. By next year this need for shopping with all of you beloved children of mine will be a thing of the past. Yay! Closer to present day, your Dad has been away for THREE WHOLE DAYS. And now he's back. I am EXTREMELY happy. And so are you. Double Yay!

love Mum.