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4 Years Ago

4 years ago I found out that rather than being 2 weeks away from giving birth I was already 2 cm dilated.

4 years ago I knew nothing about bubs or children. I’d been focus so long on getting and staying pregnant that I didn’t dare think beyond that. I wasn’t worried about it though; just give me a living child.

4 years ago I thought a living son could heal all the broken bits of my heart.


Today is the last day my boy will be 3. He’s at day care with cakes to share with his friends (and with his ‘not my best friends’ as well). Tomorrow he’ll open his bedroom door, and the balloons I’ll have strapped to the door with streamers will bounce around him. We’ll spend the day together doing stuff. It’s winter here and will probably be too nasty to go outside, so perhaps make a blanket fort? Maybe visit the library? Perhaps draw something for his MorMor and MorFar and take it to the post to send off? Maybe visit the stuffed tiger at the museum with whom he has a love/fear relationship? I don’t know. It’s up to him.

Today I still don’t know much about children, but I’m still not worried about it. I loath all internet things that try to make you feel less a person and the writer feel smug. I try to just let my boy be who he is, which is no doubt influenced by who I am but which I don’t feel the need to tinker with using someone’s newest theory. This week I’m nagivating my way through his first birthday party with friends coming to our home. You’d be shocked if you knew how I studied other friends’ parties, picking up the clues to the customs this strange society of children.

Today I know parts of my heart will never heal. This is probably good. Those parts belong to my other son. I have more than enough left for my living boy that I don’t need to steal from Blobby – nor indeed from all the other little possibilities that didn’t make it along this journey.

Categories: Uncategorized
  1. a
    06/08/2015 at 2:02 am

    Happy Birthday!

    And good luck with the party – I find that to be one of the most fraught things of my daughter’s childhood.

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