Every Thursday I remember that Thursday 32 [yes, THIRTY TWO] weeks ago when I became Freddie’s Mummy. I’m sure one day a Thursday will pass without me remembering every detail … but in many ways I hope not! Whenever I see Sarah, my birthing partner; we inevitably talk about that day in early March when my life gained its purpose and the world gained beautiful Freddie. We talk about the days and night before too, and remind each other of little anecdotes; countless walks around the park, the tuna sandwich on the antenatal ward, nearly falling off the birthing ball, toppling over in the pool when the midwife first checked for the heartbeat as I forgot my huge bump unbalanced me … the “Hits of the 1990s” CD we found in the delivery room and played and contracted to through the night. It amazes me that my not so little Freddie lived and grew in my tummy. THIRTY TWO weeks since he made his entrance. Wow. When Sarah and I were pacing the park, we had no idea what Freddie would look like, what his little personality would be, and how life would change forever in that final push. The crowning moment.
This week two friends have had babies and others are freshly pregnant; it makes me slightly broody and even more nostalgic for Freddie’s birth; I hanker to press rewind and relive these glorious 7 months again. I never imagined myself to have children; at 32 I was single and possibly lacking direction. I’d always followed the cliched heart, and travelled after university. I’d done some pretty crazy things; I’d lived a rollercoaster hedonistic lifestyle, and whilst there were some amazing experiences and memories, I’d be lying if I said there weren’t some regrets, and there wasn’t a certain loneliness. Of all the things I’ve done, having Freddie, being his mummy – is undoubtedly the thing I’m most proud of, and the defining moment of my life. Still, 32 weeks since his arrival, and over a year since I knew I was going to have a baby … I look at Freddie sleeping at night, and can’t quite believe he’s mine. I never thought motherhood would happen to me, and it has … and somehow this gorgeous, chuckling, chubby cherub is mine.
It is such a responsibility, to be a mummy, to love them and give so much of yourself to them; to entertain them and allow them to entertain themselves … to introduce them to the world, and deprive yourself of sleep, time to shave your legs, evening television [aside from CBeebies bedtime hour] and clothes without stains on them. It’s as exhilarating as it is exhausting, and I just want this little boy to always feel so loved and secure; to look back on a happy childhood with laughter and imagination. Perhaps I feel this all the more intensely because I’m a single mum; because I don’t want my son to ever feel like he’s missed out on anything. Perhaps the reason I blog, is not only to share, and to store memories for when the boy is old enough to read them … but because these monologues replace the conversations I would imagine having with a partner at night when the baby sleeps; parenting philosophy, the things you’ve done during the week … Maybe one day, this Bridget Jones will find her Mr Big, but he’ll have to be pretty damned wonderful, and embrace Freddie with his whole heart.
And tomorrow, we are off to the seaside. I shall report back.