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The [M] Word: A Girl Has Many Names
A girl has many names. In fact, I could probably think of one you’ve been given for every week of your life, all 52 of them, but I won’t. You probably wouldn’t thank me for it, Stinker.
Today is your first birthday, and a day shared with the anniversary of me becoming a mother. Bobs, it’s been both a whirlwind and a marathon, the longest and shortest of years, and the truth is, that while some are in high def, some parts are
You made it.
It was raining on New Year’s Eve 2017. Your Dad and I snogged by the ambulance bay of the hospital after one of our many slow waddles through the endless corridors while we waited for you. Our first midwife, Fiona, bore an uncanny resemblance to Kim Woodburn, which was strangely reassuring to me. We heard fireworks over Nottingham at midnight while I rode the waves of my contractions, and Dad left our labour snacks in the car, but did bring board games. You’ll get more context to
You tore your way into the world at 3.37am on New Year’s Day, the first baby born at Queen’s Medical Centre in 2018. You didn’t cry and neither did I. Not then.
The crying – mine, not yours – started on day three, like clockwork. Since then, this year, I’ve cried more than any other year of my life. Hysterical, primal, guttural sobs, and snotty, joyous, elated ones. Silent streams in toilet cubicles and huge, fat tears that dropped from my cheeks onto yours.
Your tears are yet to flow freely like
The first few weeks were tough (I recounted that as a whole separate saga here), but since then I’ve poured over the trajectory of your growth chart, holding back tears at ‘self-weigh’ when you’ve not gained as much as your Red Book tells me you should have. I’ve beaten myself up for days when I accidentally knelt on your foot while
Oh, the guilt. It wouldn’t be anything without it’s compadre, anxiety. We were already acquainted, of course, but our relationship reignited this year, although I’m pleased to confirm that I stopped recording every feed (time, quantity, exact details of food consumed once we’d started weaning), nappy (time, contents, any important notes) and sleep (time, length) a couple of months ago. Yes, I did it for 10 months, and yes, I made your Dad do it, too. I know that those around us thought it was overkill, but they
Does it ever lessen? Will you, one day, be able to tell me to stop fretting, that you’re fine, and that you love me despite these things? I hope so.
That aside, any guilt, anxiety or rage (there’s been a fair bit of that, too) falls away next to the immeasurable joy you bring me, daily. Your smile is so broad that it looks like it should make your cheeks ache, and you have just this week added an extra feature of screwed up eyes and wrinkled nose to
But here’s the real thing. You’ve only been here for a year, but I cannot, and will not, remember who I was before you. You, Bezza, give me life in a way I could never have imagined. You push me to
Thanks to you, I’ve met new friends who I really, truly love and hope will be in my life forever, and their children who I really, truly love and hope will be in both of our lives forever.
Through you, I have found a deeper level to my relationship with my own Mum, a new appreciation for her sacrifices and the extent of her love for me.
Because of you, I have seen the man I love blossom and bloom into something else
And you, Ramlet, have uncovered in me a tenderness I never knew was there.
Robyn, you’ve had many names this year, and I’ve only had one. The best one: Mummy.
Thank you for introducing me to myself.