They say time is a healer, time seems nothing like that yet. I feel this week I’m saying again it’s the worst week. The worst day. The worst second. I feel like I’m failing sometimes trying to drag anything positive out of time. Then I sit and look at your pictures and they make me smile. A tiny bit.
This little collage is a small snippet of your early years. I took a photo of the first day of the diary your dad and I wrote. We wrote that diary every day from 7/5/98 to 8/5/1999 (your first birthday party a day late to fit in with the weekend!). It’s lovely to look back at your first year in such detail. There is one part where dad wrote about me going out without you for the first time. He says ‘mum rang to see how I was and dad says I’ve been sleeping for ages. Two minutes later mum rang back again and asked dad to check I was breathing and dad said yes, she’s sleeping’.
That picture of you in the perspex cot after you were born – don’t you look huge. You were 8lb 10oz, I was really proud as I’m a vegetarian people kept worrying that you’d be small. I was so sick when I was pregnant with you, the minute you arrived that all disappeared. I drank the first cup of tea that I’d had in months and whilst everyone else was sleeping I just stared at you all night. I really couldn’t believe it. You were perfect. Bald, but perfect.
That picture of you looking at the camera with the proudest ‘I’ve got a new brother ‘ face is one of my favourites. From the very second you saw him, you adored him. He always wanted to be like you, he’d run around the slate floor in his stroller trying to catch up with you and at nine months he was so determined he walked before crawling so he could run around with you, generally he fell around but you know, he tried!
We had some early holidays didn’t we, a trip to Ireland and Amsterdam during your first couple of years, you loved the aeroplane and were always so sociable. Someone said they usually avoided sitting by kids on the plane but you made them smile the whole flight chatting away and reading your books. I remember us walking around the dodgy parts of Amsterdam while you fell asleep! Really glad you kept asleep too!
Your first Christmas when when I got you into one of the few dresses you ever wore. What on earth possessed me to get that cream and furry dress with a picture of Scooby on I have no idea and I apologise for my bad taste. No wonder you pulled that face!! Sorry!
A few memories, a few pictures. I’ll never forget despite my worries that I will. On the Friday night of the weekend before you left us I remember leaving work and saying that tonight I have a night to myself. I was looking forward. Can you believe that? I know it’s normal, to like some time to yourself. But just two days before I thought that was a bit of a treat, a night for me, and my favourite dinner (weird veggie sausage cheese salad – you know!),- glass of wine, the fire and my TV choice, strange how those things at that time seemed a treat. I try not to give myself a hard time. I know most parents like a night to themselves but I’d give anything for that night and any night to be the usual one, us – just us, just normal.
I’m missing you – so much, I miss you wearing your onesie with your toes stretched to the edge of the feet because you didn’t want to admit it was too small, you would stroll down the stairs lazily wearing it with your curly coloured hair in knots and a faintly freckled face smelling out some breakfast. I miss your intelligent conversation and stories of school and who made you laugh, I miss your hugs so so much and can only be grateful that I made the most of them when I had you. None of us are perfect parents; we can only try hard to be ourselves and to allow you to be yourself. 2 months and two days ago, everything was fine Tes, 2 months and one day on, everything changed. I promise you I’ll keep going but if Dr Who could pop over one day for a spot of time travelling, can you tell him to stop at my door.
Night night chicken little xxx