Today was Atticus's birthday. Our firstborn would have been eight. Eight. That just blows my mind.
We set free some helium balloons in Addy's honour. Well, I'd picked up 8 with the intention of letting them all go, but Cole and Immy informed me that Addy - being the ever-generous and loving elder brother - would have been happier if they could each keep a balloon, so we took that route instead - I could hardly refuse what the munchkins were so adamant was the birthday boy's wishes, now could I?
Cole and Immy decided to write their wish on a balloon each, which was pretty gorgeous.
Immy drew a picture of her and Atticus playing together in the clouds, and Cole's balloon was a veritable ode to cool modes of transport - speedboats and racing cars and jet planes and rockets and all things that his big brother would have liked. There were plenty of hearts on both, as well as their names, so Atticus could easily tell who each balloon was from.
Singing happy birthday to Addy again was bittersweet, watching my younger 2 make a wish and send a message to their big brother as they let go of their balloon was very special, and having Cole spontaceously yell out *I love you so much baby Atticus that my heart will burst, and I hope you have a happy birthday and have fun playing with Nana Mary* just about did me in. There were tears, but there was also joy. And affirmation. And much watching of balloons in the big blue Australian sky until even the tiny dots disappeared.
Happy birthday my dear sweet Addy. Mama loves you. And she's not the only one.