After my friends got over the initial shock of being told that I was 'with child' (it took some time for me to be able to say I was pregnant without flinching), they very naturally asked the next inevitable question. Would I prefer a pink, or a blue? I did the usual politically correct thing and told them that I would be extremely thankful if baby is healthy, given the all sorts of complications and risks present due to my advanced age - never mind the gender. At the back of my mind, I didn't dare say that I had hoped for a girl. Someone to have girly time with, conversations about how stinky boys are, and well... basically a direct extension of myself.
At 14 weeks, I heaved a huge sigh of relief when the OSCAR test results came back normal, as well as confirmed my initial suspicions that I was expecting a boy. The Mookid decided to not only co-operate fully during the scan (he was in the required position and stayed that way the entire time the measurements were taken) he also wanted to let us know that he will pee standing up in the future.
I was ecstatic that there was no further cause for worry, but at the same time, I worried myself silly. I bombarded the (long suffering) husband about feelings of inadequacies, telling him I have no maternal instincts to speak of, and none seem to be growing in tandem with my tummy! I do not care for the great outdoors, I'm allergic to sports, and I don't fancy trains, planes or automobiles. What would we have in common? Would he think me silly if I didn't know a cherry picker from a crane?
After he was born, I worried about going back to work. I didn't want him to be reliant on anyone else. I needed to be needed, no matter how tough the first few months were. I wanted to be there to witness first moments, and I wanted his hugs to be just for me. I spent sleepless nights (and not because he kept me awake - he has slept throughout the night since he turned two months old!) worrying about not being able to be a Mum in the true sense of the word. I feared feelings of jealousy and being unable to handle it if he should be closer to anyone else but me.
In the end, I closed my eyes, took a deep breath, and went back to work amidst feelings of uncertainties. I missed him like mad, and there are days when it took all my willpower not to run home to be with him. I am fortunate that he is in good care, but always - always in those initial stages - I worried about not being wanted nor needed. By a little boy not even one.
But I did my best. I tried to do what I think is best as a Mum. All of my non-working time is spent with him, and for him. I try to make up for my absence by being present whenever I possibly can. I didn't need any further 'me' time, because I have enough of it during work. It helps that the husband feels the same way, so knowing that we're in it together dispels any feelings of neglect which the other may feel otherwise.
We go everywhere during weekends, and at that time, we got around using public transport, too. I make his meals from scratch not because I didn't want to feed him bottled stuff, but because I wanted to, and I felt that it wasn't that difficult to do. I feed him, I put him to sleep, and I carried him everywhere because he never took to being in a stroller. I got used to cleaning up mess, poops, pees, vomit and nursed him back to health when he fell ill. He smiles at me and hugs me close, held my hands tightly when he started walking, and still does, even now when he can run and jump. I accompany him at play in water parks, got my knees skinned building sandcastles, and scratched myself silly after coming in contact with cow grass.
Did I care? No, not I.
Neither does he care that I can't throw a ball to save my life. He doesn't need me to be able to outrun the rest of the pack. He doesn't mind that I am imperfect. We just have fun together, my little boy and I, and as he grows up, he just seems to get better at twirling me round his little finger. The first time he called me 'Mehmee', I felt that my heart would burst.
You know what I mentioned about having an extension of myself? Funnily enough, he is so much like me that it amazes me at times. He's particular about cleanliness, he doesn't like his clothes askew, and he's a sassy smartypants. Oh! For all the times which I have been sarcastic and full of sass, he gives me a taste of my own medicine. Double dose.
I know that eventually he would not allow me to kiss and hug him as much as I do, and neither will he display his affections as freely as he does now. Let me hold on to him for as long as possible before he breaks away when he reaches that certain age when it's just not 'cool' to be hanging out with Mummy.
I realise that the bond between my little boy and I grew simply because we spend a lot of time together just doing nothing and everything. The fact that he's so much like me also makes it easy for me to understand him and the things which make him happy, angry or sad. I hang out with him, pretend play, and generally just act silly around him. I don't care that I often made a fool of myself doing crazy things with him in public, for I didn't need anybody else to judge me. All that matters is that he knows that I will always, always be there with him whenever he needs me.
Me and my MiniMoo. We have a special bond, as many mothers and sons do.
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