Julie Jay: My youngest's first year has been the fastest in my life
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For the last 12 months, I have woken JJ up every morning saying, ‘This time last year, you were in mammy’s tummy.' But now this greeting can no longer be uttered, and JJ is no doubt relieved the monotony has come to an end. From now until eternity, his age will be measured in years, not days. But already, I know he will always be my baby because I am nothing if not clichéd when it comes to Irish mammy stereotypes.
To celebrate turning one, he has finally started to crawl, in kind of a one-leg motion, but a crawl that is all the same. This progression handily coincided with a physio appointment, where he impressively trundled into the clinic on all fours with a look of satisfaction that suggested he’d had the last laugh. JJ 1; HSE 0, his visceral delight seemed to scream.
So confident was he in manoeuvering into the very kind physiotherapist’s office that the whole thing was reminiscent of the final scene in , when the character Roger ‘Verbal’ Kint, having walked with a limp for the entirety of the film, emerges from the police station minus affectation, thus revealing himself to be the killer Leyzer Soze. (Before anyone decries spoiler, it has been 29 years since the premiere. If you haven’t watched the movie at this stage, much like your vow to finally sort out the attic, you probably never will.)
The day before we had enjoyed a little family get-together on JJ's first birthday, which he surprisingly enjoyed, seemingly basking in the attention and fittingly ignoring his carefully chosen present of a musical set and instead choosing to play with a spatula I had left lying around. His cousins were in attendance, and they dutifully sang the required 'Happy Birthday' song while staying a safe distance from the candles. At the same time, JJ’s attempts to blow out the candles were hindered by his brother doing the honours before the birthday boy got his chance to wish for world peace or a large lotto win.
The spread was simple but effective—and yes, I did insist on including a fruit bowl because I am an eternal optimist. The fruit came in handy for the swarm of wasps also in attendance, so my catering was very much on point for humans and insects alike.
My eldest, Ted, insisted on keeping his brother in the dark on the morning of the party. As I ran around setting up the kitchen for festivities, he scolded me for my lack of discretion in pinning up a piñata.
“Because a party without a surprise is not a party,” he insisted, and I didn’t have the heart to tell him my worst nightmare is anything that involves a surprise get-together, having seen these things go awry one too many times. Most notably, I once ended up at a surprise party where the birthday girl had just landed from the gym after a spinning class and proceeded to announce her arrival by shouting in the hall to her partner in the kitchen that it was good to be home as her sister-in-law had been ‘wrecking her head’ all day, only to open the kitchen door and see the same sister in law standing, lips pursed, holding up one half of a birthday banner. Those of us gathered sang a lacklustre ‘surprise’ to lighten the mood whilst the birthday girl’s face went from post-gym flush to ashen shock quicker than you can say, ‘Christmas is going to be awkward.’
The relief was overwhelming when the baby’s birthday party went off without incident. Attendees left with a Kinder egg and squidgy ball apiece, the latter being a solution for anyone who has ever wanted a ball but also something squidgy. (Don’t mock it until you try it.) I’ve managed to cure all my professional anxiety by just squeezing these soft plastic stress outlets on the regular.
In a week when JJ turned one and started to crawl, it was also the week I failed to clean up the many choking hazards scattered around the floor post-party in a timely fashion. It was only when I turned around the morning after the night before and spotted him chewing on the remnants of a piñata I had placed a few metres away from him that I realised our little man could move a lot faster than I thought. Arretez! I told our little conquistador and did that uniquely parental thing of congratulating him on his progression while simultaneously fishing out confetti from behind his gnashers.
This week was a real reminder that they go from being your baby to a boy racer in a matter of days. Where he was once happily sitting sedentary for an hour at a time, JJ is now moving faster than Oasis reunion tickets on Done Deal. One minute, he is playing in my knicker drawer, and the next minute, he has somehow made his way over to his tin of christening accoutrements, including his holy water, which he proceeds to scatter all around my knickers. I’m fairly sure this officially makes them blessed vestments.
Every birthday is a blessing, but when it comes to our kids, birthdays are a reminder that time is moving at lightning speed. As a parent, the world goes from being very far away to suddenly within reach very quickly, much like the pair of scissors you thought they’d never be close enough to grab. Blink, and you might miss it.