THE DREADED D WORD // LIFE LATELY

This wasn't the post I had planned for today, in fact things have been so crazy busy behind the scenes that I'm facing a mountain of work and feel like I'm wading through treacle. But I'm trying to stay positive and upbeat, ploughing ahead with the work/life balance – and failing slightly  – while trying to stay healthy and be all things to all people.

Except one person is needing me more than most at the moment, my kiddo. It's so easy to get wrapped up in all the busy *and roll on the mama guilt* that you forget to stop once and awhile and take stock of a situation, and there's been one slowly brewing which I didn't foresee. I'm talking about the D-word...yes, death.

F by nature is a sensitive boy, and quite emotionally mature and intune with the world around him. So I knew something has been off for the last few weeks as we've fluxuated between various axieties such as fearing he'll choke on his food, being worried about using the toilet, about missing either me or Paul when one of us is not with him and even some tears at pre-school. Finally last night it clicked into place.

Behind those big beautiful brown eyes, his mind has been going into overdrive and as I sat trying to get some work done I heard him call out for me. His little frantic voice shouting from his room. On rushing in I was met with his fear, "I don't want to die mummy, don't let me die". Oof there's something I wasn't expecting. As an adult we can rationalise these things, we understand the concept of death and the meaning of the word, all the while hoping for a long life. But to a small four year old boy, this realisation suddenly seems terrifying.

Don't put me under the grass. oof. Don't leave me on my own. oof. If I die will you have another baby and call it F and forget about me. oof. Each one is a blow to the stomach as I hold his little hands in mine and stroke his furrowed brow. Composing myself I try to answer all his questions calmy, each  considered and loaded with reassurance as he works himself into a frenzy. "Mummy please don't let me die and be gone forever, I dont want to go mummy please" tears are now falling rapidly, his little face looks so terrified and his hands are grasping me so tight that I dare not breathe incase it gives away my poker face.

I know these questions are part of growing up, his mind trying to understand the world, and that in a few hours/days/weeks all this will be forgotten, but right now in this moment I can see the world from his eyes, how big and daunting it must seem. Even though he had asked about death a while back the idea that it will happen to him has taken his mind to a whole new level. So I do what mamas do best, squeeze him with all my love, cover him in kisses and sing him to sleep, only to then frantically search online the best way to ride out this tiny storm.

If there was ever a need for a parenting manual, now would be great time to pass the book around.

WHEN ONE IS NOT ENOUGH

My mind keeps drifting back to that long day which ended with a new babe in my arms. A small pink squirming life, eyes like dark pools blinking up at me against the harsh strip lighting overhead. I recall how this new person was thrusted up under the hospital nightgown, ready to nestle against my breasts and hear the familiar heartbeat that had had kept him company for those nine months.

I have always wanted a large family, a house filled with loudness and laughter, chaos and love. Excuse the rose tinted glasses for that's all I have. In the first year of F's life I was so immersed with this new being that I could not think of sharing my love with another, but in the back of my mind I was quietly confident that soon a sibling would join us and those childhood ideals of mine would come to fruition. As some of you might remember I have touched upon the subject of loss, a tiny snapshot of grief. As these years have blurred by my confidence in conceiving has dwindled. Two babes gone in two years.  Each time I move forward, and as F grows I am able to claw more of myself back, not tied to those hourly night feeds or baby attached at the hip. I flex the small amount of independence gained with this ageing boy, the solo weekends away, nights out with friends, the ability to stay up late and to go work.

I swing between the want of more children and the new found freedom I have, like a pendulum in a clock. Back and forth, ever changing. Each month I wonder if I'm fooling myself either way, whether I know what I actually want. Then I'll have a grizzly day, where F won't eat the food I spent lovingly preparing, my patience runs thin with the constant repeating myself or a tantrum is thrown in for good measure. In that split second I forget how precious a gift he is and I mentally wish away the years.

Then all it takes is one moment caught off guard, siblings playing, a film, others happy news. In that moment the tears flow and I know that one is not enough.

AND THEN IT WAS AUGUST

Image source Mother

August. Already.

When did that happen? Time seems to be disappearing, moving too quickly. F is rapidly approaching three and then there is pre-school. Yesterday as I battled town, dashing from shop to shop while F sat patiently for all five minutes before demanding freedom from his pushchair, I searched for the items needed for F's pre-school uniform – yes that's right, UNIFORM.

Yet while I am getting my boy ready for his next big step, I seem to have neglected myself. Am I ready? He still seems so small. I'm suddenly panicked at the moments I won't have with him, and although I always wish for my own time, it seems that time is something that no-one has. It passes whether we like it or not, whether we are ready or turn a blind eye. And just like that he'll be in school/university/traveling/married. He will have left the nest. Ok maybe I am being a bit crazy but looking back at these almost three years, and it feels like the blink of an eye. It is hard to remember all the little details I thought I would, and hell, I never imagined myself at 33 but here I am.

We arrived home disheveled and F tried on his uniform. A huge lump settled in my throat and I made a decision there and then that the husband will come with me to drop F off at pre-school, because I think I'll need someone to hold my hand.

FOR FATHER'S DAY

I know the ups and downs of motherhood as I stumble through it every waking hour, but I can not know what it feels like to be a dad. Such a different relationship, yet the same. As I feel at the centre of my journey with F, completely intertwined; from peeing on a stick, fighting off the nausea, stomach swelling, those first kicks and movements deep within, the waves of contractions, surrendering to pain beyond measure, his first need of milk as he latches hungrily on. It seems I am the centre of his world, and then there is daddy.

No less fierce in his love for him, I wonder if he feels somehow stranded on the peripheral. As I have been home with F since he entered the world, I imagine how it must feel to constantly walk in and out of the day to day.

In this role of daddy he nurtures and guides this small boy, he plays and laughs when he's exhausted, he  holds his hand when needed and relinquishes it readily when he calls for me, he is strong when I can not be, he is calm and controlled when I start to lose the plot.

He is silently there, ready incase he should fall. This man who has become a father.

An early Happy Father's day to you. x

AND THEN THERE WAS PRE-SCHOOL

It seems this child of mine has been bounding effortlessly into a big boy world this last few weeks. No more nappies, seemingly dropping day time naps (although I am going to persist with this one) and then there was Pre-School.

After several months of skirting around the subject of child care, visiting an inordinate amount of nurseries and my total denial that the day would come for me to handle over my bundle, we finally made a decision. And even with forms filled in and money exchanged to secure his place in September, I lay restless at night turning to twitter to voice my anxieties. 

So it came to my complete surprise yesterday when we arrived at said pre-school to find that I was not - as I had thought - staying with him for a few hours to play, but in fact leaving him there for a two hour taster session. When I say surprise you'll find I mean shock, fear, trepidation, nausea, guilt and complete heartbreak at seeing his eyes well up when he realised that I was leaving him behind. 

Like a horse out of that starting gate I bolted, in the knowledge that any second longer my plastered smile would falter and all would be betrayed. I sat with new friends and old, sipping coffee, chatting, clock watching, waiting until I could go and collect my boy. I rushed through the door and saw him calmly sitting with a book. He clocked me instantly with those big brown eyes, relief flooding through his face, very quickly followed by tears. I scooped him up and all was well. 

After keeping schtum for most of the day about his taste of independence, he finally gave me the low down whilst sitting on the potty. 

"First I was sad and I cried. 

Then I was happy and I played with boats on water.

I painted a picture of mummy. 

There were dinosaurs in the sandbox.

Mummy there were lots of pictures on the wall. 

I saw my friends.

I did a wee in my trousers, the teacher wore gloves. That was strange.

I can go back on my own."

I smile and listen intently, asking questions about his day. Oh my baby where did you go.