But sometimes, there is a little sadness behind those giggles. This week, my boy was six. Six – such a little word, but this time around it seemed like such a big birthday. So much so that I shed a little tear for it. Alone.
And…erm, in the toilet, which is, of course, the only place in the house, as ever parent knows that you can get a minute to yourself….
I grabbed a flannel afterwards, and faced the world with slightly red eyes, in an unusually melancholy way, not just because my little boy is growing up, but because I won’t be able to experience those early years ever again. Not with any little ones because of last year.
So I look at my beautiful boy now and I remember when…
- I realised that I hadn’t done this bit before, and didn’t have a clue how to actually give birth properly, I never got to this stage the last time…push, sorry, what in god’s name am I supposed to do now?
- I could hold your hand in mine and it disappeared, and now, you don’t sit still long enough for me to even try
- I used to sit and just stroke your head in your cot and listen to your breathing because I couldn’t believe that you were real
- You slept on me, and I could feel your heartbeat against mine, and I would lean down and just take in that wonderful, newborn baby smell
- You stroked my breast as you fed and it seemed like the most beautiful natural thing in the whole world
- You screamed so hard with the pain in your throat that I thought your lungs would burst, and I felt so helpless because I could do nothing
- You found your thumb and how utterly cute you looked sucking it all the time, but how incredibly different it was to get you to stop
- You would hold out your arms to me as soon as I came in the room because there was no-one that felt better than mummy.
I am hoping that a little bit of him remembers too……