Dexter has now turned eight years old and he was lucky enough to do his SATS on his birthday. How about that for a birthday present?!
Apart from an exam as a birthday present, he had a good day. The Xbox game I bought him was second hand and his birthday shirt was from Sainsburys but you know what … he was thrilled. I don’t know if he understands fully that Mummy is now even more skint than before, but I did the best I could with what I had.
When I was pregnant with Dexter (aka Skig,) and his Dad and I were picking baby names, we argued a lot about what to call him (the warning signs were there!) I bought a book of name meanings, as you do, and we pondered over picking a name that was different but not too different. A name that was original but not too weird. I didn’t want to call him Shoe, or Orange, or Ramsgate … and when his Dad said the name Dexter (after the singer Dexter Wansall,) I knew that was the one.
Strange how some things just feel right.
Dexter is very proud that he’s the only Dexter in his school. He has learnt to wear his uniqueness with a badge of honour – from his name, to his mad professor afronic hair, to his unusual yet oh-so-funny habit of dancing in the middle of Tescos. Everything that makes Dexter special.
He’s eight going on 15 … he’s not got out of bed before 8am at all since his birthday – a teen in the making. He’s still young enough to want a cuddle first thing in the morning but old enough to now get pocket money, which he’s thrilled about. Not sure he understands the whole ‘chore’ concept yet though.
He’s a ray of light in a sometimes dark world and I adore him.
Happy birthday son. Mummy loves ya.
* There are 2 featured links in this post but it’s a post I was going to write anyway.