I’ve wobbled and almost fallen too many times to count. I worry constantly about whether I’m doing things right, whether David will end up in therapy in twenty or thirty years’ time. I know for sure that I only want to do this once, and I definitely couldn’t do it on my own.
Despite all of this, (and trust me, it’s taken almost fifteen months to get to this point), I love being a mum.
I love the smiles and the giggles, the grin on David’s face when he’s doing something he knows he shouldn’t be. I struggle not to burst out laughing alongside him.
I love holding his hand as he discovers new things, and I secretly delight when he comes running back to me.
I hate it when things aren’t right in his little world, and I love to hold him until it’s better. I adore watching him sleep and hearing him breathe his snuffly breaths, but picking him up as he wakes and feeling him bury his face in my neck is the best thing in the world.
Although they’re frustrating, deep down I relish the tantrums and the challenge they bring.
I love watching David with his daddy: their bond is so different to the bond I share with him, and yet still so achingly beautiful.
I’ve watched my baby turn from a 9lb 3.5oz newborn who cried inconsolably without the help of Infacol,
to a four-month-old whose special skill was fitting an entire foot into his mouth,
to an eight-month-old poser who loved to crawl as fast as he possibly could,
to a VERY SERIOUS one-year-old,
to a fourteen-and-a-half month-old bundle of terror and joy. (Yes, that is a pen in his hand, and no, I don’t know where he got it from.)
I know I’ll look back in eighteen years’ time and wonder even more where that tiny baby went, but right now, I love almost every second of this and I’ll treasure it for ever. I’m going to hold him tight on this Mother’s Day, and for as many more as he’ll let me.
Also? If tomorrow is going to be as good as today, bring it on!
For a while, you were there. Yesterday, you were gone.
For four-and-a-half weeks, to be precise.
Until a few days ago, I didn’t know it, nobody knew it.
I didn’t dare think about you. I told nobody. I’d said, “no more”, “enough”. ”We’re done.” I meant it, too, and I still mean it.
I’ve been here before. It hurt, then. This time I just feel empty and numb. I didn’t want to be here again.
There was nothing I could’ve done to change this. I’m not sure I would have if I could. But still I feel guilty, guilty for thinking and feeling nothing.
I’m going to hold this little boy tight and be thankful for what I have. That is all I can do.
Dearest David,
Today you turn thirteen months old. Woah. You’ve celebrated the occasion by catching a nasty virus: one that causes ear, throat and eye infections, apparently. This makes you, well, a little miserable. Daddy is happy, though, because your doctor is young and really rather attractive.
You’ve well and truly mastered walking this month. You now walk 99% of the time, only crawling when you’re really tired. I think you’ve realised that walking means you can reach things, carry things, and go much faster. Those poor cats don’t know what’s hit them, and neither did the stationery cupboard in Daddy’s office…
Master David, let’s talk about sleep for a minute. Because you’re tiring yourself out with the walking, you’re supposed to be sleeping more. That glorious, wonderful thing called “sleep” that means Mummy gets a break and you feel less grumpy: PLEASE START DOING IT AGAIN. Please don’t make me rock you to sleep in the pushchair, or take you out for a drive in the car. I do dearly love snuggling you back to sleep in the mornings, but not for every nap. Please. You are still sleeping through most nights, unless you’re teething or ill, so Daddy and I are lucky in that respect, but I really, really would like daytime naps to be a little less stressful.
Your talking and understanding are coming on in leaps and bounds. You can now choose between two outfits (and no, nakedness is still not an option), two different things to eat, and a couple of different toys. You had a lovely little conversation with the lady in front of us in the checkout line yesterday, and she couldn’t believe you were only thirteen months. You like to talk on the phone: you’ll come and take my iPhone out of my pocket and pretend to talk on it: it’s much better than a toy phone!
I’m not sure what’s happened to your tastebuds, but you are EATING! Something other than meatballs and chocolate buttons and garlic bread! You have decided that you quite like lettuce, and peas, and butternut squash, and raw mozzarella. You are prepared to try anything we offer. You have learned to use a fork. You even ate lumpy food without gagging! The biggest change, I think, has been that you’re asking for everything that Daddy and I are eating, and putting it in your mouth without looking disgusted. If Grandma asks, your new favourite food is peas, but we both know it’s bites of Daddy’s bacon double cheeseburgers. (Disclaimer: it might look like it, but that is not a cheeseburger in the photo. It’s a muffin.)
You’ve spent lots of time with other children this month: mostly your cousin Wilfred. You’re both old enough to really enjoy playing with each other now. You’ve been teaching him how to crawl, and showing him how to use a bottle. You’ve also met Daddy’s best friend’s daughter Josie, who is exactly a year younger than you. You are so gentle with both of them, (except when you occasionally forget and throw a brick at Wilfred’s head), and I have a horrible feeling you’ll be leading both of them astray in years to come.
You are very definitely a toddler now. I miss your baby days, but you are so much fun! I’m going to enjoy every second of our days at home until you go back to seeing Claire for a few days a week in July. I love watching you learn about the world around you, and when you are challenging I relish the challenge.
Love,
Mummy and Daddy (who will cry when he reads this, as usual)
