Birthday posts · The pobs

The Pob is four 

This time four years ago I was getting ready to go to bed. Nervous, scared and excited. I thought I was going in to labour and I was right. I absolutely can now say all the scars, quite literally have well and truly healed. I feel blessed to have a wonderful four year old and I’m proud we went through what we did to get him here. I still stand by what I said back then that only the most special come in to the world with such trauma. Coupled with time, Sammy has also healed a lot of the wounds from Rafe’s arrival. That said I still think if I hadn’t had Sam I’d be fine now, pride of my big boy has eclipsed all the trauma. I’m just proud we both are here now and went through what we did. We’ve got a special connection. I know every mum thinks that. But still we have. 

Rafe fills me with pride. He’s stunning, kind, clever and has a hilarious sense of humour. He’s like a mini me with his temper. He’s now ‘allergic’ (as mum, dad and Lucy call it) when he’s cranky or hurts himself. I’m the only one he’ll let near. I know that’ll change one day. But not yet. That’s one thing I’d bottle now if I could. 
He’s coming out of the terrible years (I’m sure only in one way and there’s more to come). He can manage himself much better emotionally. He’s independent. He’s started taking himself to the loo when we go out to familiar places by himself, he’ll get dressed himself. He helps me do chores by choice (not always). He’s started to cuddle and kiss me, tell me he loves me, without prompt. Things I’d bottle number 2. 
He lets me in his bed to read to him only on a Friday and other days I’m instructed to sit on the floor. 
He is frustrated by challenges and won’t practice to do things but gets cross with himself and abandons it instead. Frustrated by his body’s ability, wanting just to be able to do it right away. My impatience. 
He isn’t keen on sports. Choosing more nature, facts, imaginary play. 
He still adores dinosaurs. Absolutely and completely. He knows what there is to know. It’s the only thing he’ll concentrate on for a long period. 
He listens, he understands right and wrong but sometimes still chooses wrong. 
This morning he opened the door to the postman with me upstairs. A new realm of understanding and worry. 
He’s a wonderful big brother. They are hilarious together, one minute ones trying to kiss the other, the next pushing him. But they are always thinking of each other and sharing. Or fighting. 
He doesn’t nap anymore, just once in a while. Is dry at night, through no pushing from us. He isn’t keen on writing but occasionally will give it a go. 
At night he asks for ten lots of mummy magic in his heart so I put my hand on his chest and he counts to ten. To fill it up. 
He’s just a boy. A lovely, tall, handsome, kind, boy. I love him with all I am just for being him. 
Happy birthday big boy of four. 
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