Happy third birthday, Oliver!

Three years today, my little monkey.

These past few months have been hard for me and you together, for our team. And I’m not only talking about your fickle moods, your tantrums, your crying every time something doesn’t go your way, every time I say NO, every time my tone of voice is more authoritative. Your intensity pushes all my buttons, dries my patience, and exhausts me at times, but I can take it.

But when you refuse my kisses, or say “stop, mummy” when I hug you—I had no idea it could start so soon; when you want daddy, “daddy’s strong” to do horsey horsey—I’m strong, too, you know?; when you cry for “papà” because you hurt yourself—my ambulance is different but it does work, let me prove it to you next time; when I offer my help and I get a “I want daddy to help”. When you say “mala mamma” punching my leg for something that’s not even under my control—it’s not my body you hurt.

I know it’s nothing personal, just a phase—another phase, always a phase—but it still hurts inside. Sometimes it even numbs my love for you a little bit.

That’s why I really struggled writing something for you today. Then the other morning I managed to avoid yet another crisis and put a smile back on your face—I did that, not daddy—and I understood what I wanted to tell you:

I don’t always get you, but I’ll always try as hard as I can.

Since you started developing into your own person—and so fiercely so—it’s been hard for me to read you, understand you, and sympathise with you when you go through your storms. I see how different we are, you and me, and even though I have one or two things I’d like to teach you eventually, now it’s me who has to learn from you.

So you here goes my promise to you. I’ll always try to be an ever-changing mother, and become the person you need me to be in every phase you go through.

I’ll improve for you unconditionally, I’ll learn from you, I’ll learn with you; I’ll put aside my pride, I’ll give you the benefit of the doubt, I’ll own to my mistakes, always and forever; I’ll respect you first, I’ll apologise first, I’ll reach out first, I’ll listen to you first. And I’ll also love you first—and sometimes for both of us, when I don’t feel like your love matches mine.

For you, my monkey, I’ll become the best version of parent and person that I can possibly be. At the end of it, I’ll be your best work of art, not the other way around.

Happy birthday, my little monkey.

I. Love. You.

Mamma