The other day a friend of mine said a curious thing. At the close of her daughter's first birthday party and surrounded by the colourful detritus of torn wrapping paper and presents, she turned to me with an oversized grin on her face and proudly announced that they'd "made it". A year had passed and they'd kept their daughter alive.
I laughed at the comment because, of course, like most new parents they'd done so much more than that, but as I face this massive milestone myself this week, with the first birthday of our son, I can suddenly relate to her proud relief.
Only 12 short months ago we were gently pushed out the front door of the maternity ward and charged with what seemed an insurmountable task; providing the necessities of life to a brand-new human.
A firm believer in the power of education, there are few tasks of any sort that I have undertaken without some form of instruction. And very few items come without a manual. Even the new mascara I bought this week had one in the box.
And yet a baby - its complexity matched only by its dependency - was put into the back seat of my car and into my safekeeping for the next 18 years, with no manual.