My son finally started walking over the Easter Bank Holiday weekend. I say finally as he is 16 months old, which in comparison to my daughter who walked at 10/11 months, is a considerable difference. I am overjoyed that he is finally able to toddle after his big sister and all of her friends.
For quite some time, I have felt an immense pressure for him to be walking. As much as we like to state we shouldn’t compare, we all do it. When people would coo and ask how old he was, I would reply with his age, then cringe as they would look curiously at him. Maybe they were wondering how he could still be so small?
At times I would feel like it was my fault. He wasn’t walking because I hardly ever gave him the opportunity to walk. He would always be sleeping, or in his pram, the carrier or being fed in a high chair. Maybe he was delayed because of his early birth or maybe he didn’t receive enough nutrients due to my HG pregnancy. He crawled perfectly fine, and although part of me knew he would do it when he was ready, I still felt like it was my fault.
However, now that he is walking, I feel sad.
I feel sad that my final baby is now a toddler.
I feel sad that I will never have a baby again.
My husband got the snip when our son was 8 weeks old. We came to this decision whilst I was still pregnant, however due to my superstitious mind, I didn’t want to jinx anything. Once we discovered how awful my pregnancy was in comparison to my first, we could only assume each further pregnancy would be worse. This was not something we were willing to risk. In addition, knowing how the pregnancy had by then affected my mental health, confirmed our decision.
However, I sometimes feel bitter that the decision was really taken out of our hands. It wasn’t because we didn’t want more children, but rather that we couldn’t have more children. The possible dangers to my health, physically as well as mentally, were just not worth the risk.
I think this put extra pressure on my perfectionism. I knew this baby was our last, meaning I wanted everything to be just right. I wanted to experience everything I had learnt from my daughter to bring up the perfect child. I can see myself now, I was determined we’d sleep in the ‘family bed’ and I would tandem baby wear, as well as tandem breastfeed. At least I got one out of three!
I don’t really remember the first six months of my son’s life. Only the bad times. I look back through Instagram and Facebook and just feel disconnection. Obviously I was physically there, but I don’t remember being there. The happy smiles, the captions full of happy emoticons, constantly trying to assure everyone in my social media world that I was coping just fine.
I became obsessive.
Paranoid that everyone would be checking my Instagram and Facebook, that if I didn’t post regular photos of my son, they would know the truth.
They would know we weren’t connecting.
But we’re getting closer every day.
He first walked for me. Just me.
My husband and daughter were downstairs, and he just did it. Once I calmed down and everyone came to have a look, he was soon walking around the room like he had been walking for months!
He has been so proud of himself, and I am so proud of him.
It’s as if he knows that him walking puts a smile on my face, he seems to always do it at the right time, rushing to give me the biggest squeeze possible.
He’s not my baby anymore, he’s my toddler.
And I think I love him.