Funny the way the mind works. I was putting a rubber band over a cupboard door handle and stretching it to reach the adjoining handle, in an effort to stop my little pug dog from opening my cupboards and strewing the contents all over the floor, when I was transported back in time forty years to when I did exactly the same thing and for the same reason. My oldest child, a little boy of eleven months wreaked havoc on the contents of the kitchen cupboards unless I 'rubber-banded' them. I started to think about that era of my life, being a mother for the first time. What a joyful and frightening experience it was. With only nine months warning, we are given that most awesome of responsibilities, the complete care and nurturing of another human being, until he or she reaches adulthood. There is a lot of information out there, but none of it helps in the middle of the night when neither you nor the baby has slept properly for days. No helpful videos to show you how to keep your cool when your colicky baby cries for four hours without a break, except for the quick intake of air so the wail can continue. No relatives, with experience, hanging around at three in the morning. It's 'just you and the baby then. How many of us would undertake that task with such a carefree heart if we knew all that it entailed? And yet, what a special joy that first-born is. This child is the one who is the sole receiver of love and affection for a year or two, or however long it takes before another sibling comes along

Mother and child find such pleasure and comfort in one another. Every little step of progress is faithfully related to whoever will listen and recorded in the baby book for future reference. Some people diligently keep up baby books for every child, but most I suspect, like me, find their lives too busy when there are two or three children to care for.

Looking at that treasured book now, I see that I even snipped a lock of his bright red hair, and taped it to the page. It is still just as red today, although he wears it a little farther back on his forehead. I recorded the exact moment when he rolled over for the first time, crawled his first step, uttered his first word. I delighted in him.

He lives a thousand miles away now. He comes when he can, but he is a busy man, with his own family and his own company to oversee. Sometimes I don't see him for months, but he has a special place in my heart, reserved just for him and I know that his love for me is as secure as mine for him, forged forever all those years ago when he was the sole object of a mother's love - the firstborn.

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