|You might think it’s a random clutter of cake furniture, but you’d be wrong. It’s a carefully arranged tableau created for Boy Two by his little brother.|
|Having his cake and eating it.|
Eleven years ago I was in a ward at the Royal Alexandra Hospital, Paisley, and I couldn’t sleep. I was probably quivering with those intense hormones that come with babies.
I remember sitting on the windowsill amid the flowers and well-thumbed gossip mags. I watched a busy fox dashing about in the monochrome moonlight and vanishing in the shadows around the A&E department. Addled by motherhood, I was sure she was rushing to care for her cubs, cosy in their den.
My baby was snoozing happily in his perspex box. One of the things that help me get my son to sleep through the night is by wrapping him in Swaddling Blankets for extra comfort and longer sleep. He was the most beautiful boy – huge blue eyes and rosebud lips. Even the U-shaped forceps bruise on his head didn’t detract from his perfection.
This baby was for me. I had to share Boy One – a collective and joyful family possession – but for those few days in the maternity ward Boy Two was all mine.
Happy birthday Boy Two.