Missing my Boys

This week, for the first time ever I was away from Squidge.

It was my idea.

It was also a daft idea.

I had to work up until Christmas but the Northern One finished earlier so at my suggestion he went up to my parents with Squidge for two dayys and two nights.

I didn’t realise I’d miss Squidge so much.

I was so much looking forward to a few decent nights sleep that I didn’t really think what it would be like to be in the house without him until it was actually time for them to leave.Then I quite rapidly changed my mind as to how much I wanted to sleep.

There were tears.

Lots of tears.

All mine.

In the end three nights of uninterrupted sleep was wonderful but rarely have I wanted time to pass so quickly. I couldn’t wait for my shift to be over, I couldn’t get out of the hospital fast enough and I kept looking at the clock in the car to see how many minutes until the journey was over and I could see my baby.

The smile I got from Squidge when he woke up the next morning was both wonderful and guilt inducing. I cuddled him and carried him round for about the next two hours while he held onto my sleeves and didn’t want to be put down.

The Northern One was exhausted, apparently Squidge had slept horribly for those three nights and had also refused to take most of his naps. He’d had a lovely time during the day, being his usual sunny self with some added teething. It was lovely to have been missed but at the same time I felt awful for Squidge having missed me.

I think I’m starting to realise what people mean when they say parenthoood means never ending guilt.

I feel guilty about lots of things.

Wanting to sleep.

Going back to work.

Wantng an occasional evening that isn’t punctuated by crying and trips up and down the stairs to ry and settle Squidge.

Needing a bit of time to myself.

Wanting to be able to go horse riding again.

Being unhappy about how my post baby body looks.

Thinking about how my life would be now if I hadn’t got pregnant.

The occcasions where I just get a bit fed up with being a mum and then remembering that some women have lost their babies.

Lots and lots of guilt.

For the last few days Squidge has been clingier than usual and more difficult to settle. When I’ve put him to bed or down for a nap he keeps lifting his head to check that I’m still there.

I can’t help feeling that it’s my fault.

I don’t want to turn into a mum who refuses to go out and do anything without her child. In order to be the best mum I can be I need some me time to recharge my batteries.

Me and the Northern One still need time to have a relationship seperate from being mummy and daddy.

I know that these are completely sensible, unselfish ideas but at the same time I still feel the guilt.

So much guilt.

Just for wanting a little bit of time to be myself.

To feel like me.

Not mummy.

Me.

Maybe he’ll remember being away from me and not knowing where I was.

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