I’ll love you forever; I’ll like you for always. As long as I’m living my baby you’ll be.”
I read this in another blog post and it broke my heart.
I’m not really sure why.
I sat in the coffee room at work and tried very hard not to cry.
I think it was the realisation that while Squidge will always be my baby to me; he won’t always want to be my baby.
The way he looks at me, giving me the biggest, beaming smile just because I was the first person he saw when he woke up.
The way he wants to sit on my lap and snuggle into my shoulder because he’s tired but not quite ready for bed.
The way he giggles at me as though I’m the funniest Person on Earth just because I sang a silly song to him.
One day he won’t do those things anymore
The way he lets me blow raspberries on his tummy to make him laugh.
The way I can hold him close and bury my face in his baby soft hair.
The way I can kiss his chubby cheeks.
The way I can stop his tears just with a cuddle.
One day he won’t want me to do those things anymore.
I want him to grow up; to become his own person following his dreams, finding love and living his life. I want these things for him but for him to have them he will have to grow away from me. I’ll have beautiful memories of him being my baby, my little boy and my grown up man.
But the thought of the day in the not too distant future when he won’t be a baby or even a toddler anymore brings a lump to my throat and an ache to my heart.
I realise now what it must have been like for my mum as me and my brother grew up; we wanted to spend increasing amounts of time with our friends, me with my then boyfriend but she remembers a time when the only person we wanted to spend time with was her.
She remembers when my brother was small enough to cradle in her arms, now she has to crane her neck to look at him.
She remembers when I would snuggle on the sofa and tell her things, now I do that with my husband on our own sofa in our own home.
She remembers me as her first baby; when she thought she might hurt me if she did up the poppers at the bottom of my vest on the day she took me home. Now I’m a mum with a baby of my own.
She came to the realisation that she could no longer fix everything for us with a kiss and a cuddle; that no matter how bad we thought things were at school or with our friends the knowledge that she loved us and always would was enough to make us smile again.
As we grew up we drew further and further away from her and although that’s what children should do, to go out and live their lives there are times where it must have hurt. It’s only since I’ve been pregnant and had Squidge that we’ve returned to having a really close relationship.
Me and my brother aren’t babies anymore but when I phoned my mum and asked her what she thought she told me that we’ll always be her babies even though we’re grown up and my brother is so tall he struggles with normal sized doorways.
I get home from work to a present Squidge made for me at nursery, a salt dough imprint of his little hand that he’s then painted with sparkly paint. It brings tears to my eyes as I examine the lines and creases I know so well; that I can look at in years time to help me remember just how small his was.
I put the hand print on my bedside table and go up to Squidge’s room to give him his night feed. He stirs when I pick him up and snuggle him close but he’s only half awake, looking for his bottle out of habit.
I rock us in the rocking chair.
I cuddle his warm weight in my arms.
I bury my face in his hair and breathe in his baby smell.
I feel so full of love for him that I think I might burst.
I say the little poem to him.
He finishes his bottle so I give him goodnight kiss and settle him back in his cot. He pulls his comforter towards him, rolls onto his side and goes straight back to sleep to dream his baby dreams.
So even though one day I’ll look at Squidge the same way my mum looks at us, right now he is my baby.
“As long as I’m living my baby you’ll be.”