BIRTHDAYS, those calendar milestones that filled your childhood with delicious anticipation.

Another year over, another watershed reached in the journey of life, another pristine 12 months laid out in front of you, like freshly fallen snow, crying out to be tramped across by booted-feet, trailing memories like footprints.

Another opportunity to do wondrous things.

The reality, though, rarely matched those heady daydreams. But the thrill was in the dreaming, wasn't it?

Oh, and the presents.

After the December-long excitement of Christmas, was there anything more delightful than your impending birthday?

Would the present you'd dreamed of for 11 months be gift-wrapped and waiting at the breakfast table?

Would you stand any taller in your socks on your birthday morning than you did the night before?

Of course you did! That was part of the magic and wonder of childhood.

Why the raptures? Well, I've been thinking about my early years this week as it was Matthew's first birthday on Tuesday. To us it's been the blink of an eye; to him, it's the entirety of his existence. Funny thing, time.

He was blind to the fact it was his birthday. He took the gifts and cards as he does his daily morning bottle.

Emily gave him a toy Tigger. His first deed was to find the label and test it for suckability.

That's his acid test of a toy's worth: does it please me when I put the label in my mouth?

It did.

His grandma had baked a birthday cake, and we lit a single candle on top. Matthew didn't grasp the concept of blowing it out, so that duty fell to Emily, whose toothless gap at the front of her mouth made her the best person for the task.

Birthday boy went to bed very happy and content, Tigger his new cot-companion.