Last month Brodie turned 9. He’s getting to an age where he’s constantly looking ahead, to the next challenge, to a life full of possibilities. And the past? That’s for us oldies to focus on.
But when his birthday comes around, I can’t help but marvel at how far we’ve come. So when I read this lovely piece, it showed me how best to express my feelings for my eldest boy – who gets embarrassed when I call him my first baby – and the special memories he’s given me.
You won’t remember how, exhausted but triumphant, I held you in my arms after a 30-hour labour and marvelled at who we’d created after such a long and heartbreaking journey of trying to become a family.
You won’t remember the way I struggled desperately in the beginning, denying I was depressed, because I loved you so much (and still do). How PND overwhelmed me, as I convinced myself you deserved nothing less than a perfect mum, and I wasn’t enough.
You won’t remember how you fell asleep on my chest, your head on my shoulder, your face nuzzled into my neck. And no matter whether I was starving, thirsty, or desperate for the loo, I would sit for hours, feeling your warmth and drinking in that baby smell.
You won’t remember how you healed me with every smile, every time you wrapped your chubby little arms around me, every time you stroked my head and said “Good Mama”, and how I slowly came to realise that with such a sunny, happy little boy, maybe I wasn’t doing so bad after all.
You won’t remember the funny looks I got when you fell asleep in your pushchair – lying on your tummy with legs tucked under you, bottom in the air. It was your favourite position, and you still prefer to sleep like that in bed even now.
You won’t remember when you first got glasses, before you could even walk, and I nicknamed you my little Harry Snotter.
You won’t remember how my heart swelled at your open and friendly nature, worrying at the same time that others would one day take advantage of it.
You won’t remember starting playgroup, nursery and school, skipping through the doors each time, excited to make friends and learn new things while I looked on with a mixture of pride and sadness, knowing you were growing into a bright young man and I couldn’t stop the passage of time.
You won’t remember the nights I’ve slipped into your room when you’re asleep, tucking you in and brushing the hair from your face, not able to go to bed without one last glance at the perfect child we’ve made.
You won’t remember.
You won’t remember. But I always will.
And I’ll hold these memories in my heart forever.
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