I can hardly believe my baby is eight, and my big boy is nineteen. It certainly doesn't seem nineteen years ago that I was a very proud and nervous new mum, gazing in wonder and trepidation at the squirming red bundle I'd been given. We've had lots of fun and a few tears along the way, normal family life and it can't have been that bad can it as I repeated the whole experience another three times.
I may have been trying for one with a head? And then to get another baby 11 years later born on the same day. Definitely npt the way it was planned. I had rather hoped for an Easter baby.