My baby boy turns 18 later this week.
Even writing that sentence feels ridiculous.
Eighteen.
An actual adult.
I genuinely cannot believe how quickly we got here.
One minute you’re cuddling a tiny baby and wondering what their little voice will sound like. The next, you’re looking at this grown-up person who has their own opinions, plans and completely different perspective on the world.
And somehow, all those years happened in between.
A Book Full of His People
We wanted to do something special to mark Ethan’s 18th birthday.
Something he could keep.
So we’ve been asking his nearest and dearest — his day one people — to write him a letter.
We’re putting them all together in a beautiful book, alongside treasured photographs from throughout his life.
Baby photographs. Family holidays. Birthdays. Adventures. Ordinary days that turned out not to be ordinary at all.
Together, they tell Ethan’s story.
But they also tell him something else.
Just how loved he is.
Every Letter Has Made Me Cry
I thought this was a lovely idea when we started.
I hadn’t quite anticipated how emotional it would be!
Every letter that has arrived has had me welling up.
People remember different things.
Little stories I’d forgotten. Moments that meant something to them. Funny things Ethan said or did.
And then there are the words of advice.
Little nuggets of wisdom from people who love him and have travelled a little further along the road.
Things they hope he’ll remember as he starts this next chapter of his life.
It’s wonderful.
The Letters That Are Missing
There’s a bittersweet side to making this book too.
My Mum isn’t here to write Ethan a letter.
Neither is my Aunty, his beloved Ninnin.
And that breaks my heart.
I know exactly how much love would have been poured into their pages.
There would have been stories. Probably some nonsense. Definitely some laughter.
And a few pearls of wisdom tucked in there too.
But although their letters are missing, they are most definitely part of his story.
They’re there in the photographs.
They’re there in the memories.
They’re there in the stories we can tell him.
And they’re there in the person he has become.
The Little Things Are Actually the Big Things
Writing my own letter made me think about what I really wanted Ethan to know.
And it wasn’t anything particularly profound.
I wanted him to know that the richest parts of my life have been the little moments.
A trip to the playground with his Grandma.
Cake and jelly pots.
His first steps at Kendal Calling.
Camping trips.
Learning to ride his bike.
Breakfast with his Grandma while she picked the raisins out of her muesli for him.
Our lockdown days.
Family holidays.
Conversations.
Laughter.
All these tiny moments that didn’t necessarily feel important at the time.
Except now they feel enormous.
Take the Photographs
Perhaps that’s why photographs matter so much to me.
They give us a way back.
A photograph can take you to a person, a place or a feeling that you thought you’d forgotten.
It can remind you how tiny their hand once was in yours.
How someone laughed.
How your family looked before everything changed again.
Looking through 18 years of photographs for Ethan’s book has reminded me of that over and over.
Take the photographs.
Print them.
Keep them.
And please, get in them too.
Eighteen Years Went Far Too Quickly
I don’t know where those 18 years went.
I’m incredibly proud of the young man my baby has become.
And while part of me would quite like to rewind and cuddle that tiny boy again, I’m excited to see what comes next.
This book might tell Ethan’s story so far.
But really, it’s only volume one.
There are so many blank pages still waiting to be filled.
My biggest hope is that he fills them with adventures, friendships, laughter, kindness and people he loves.
Because if writing these letters has reminded me of anything, it’s this.
A rich life isn’t measured by how much you have.
It’s measured by how much you love, how deeply you are loved, and the memories you make along the way.
