My Second Boy
My little baby. My second boy. I love you so much I can’t even begin to say. And I’m sorry.
I’m sorry I changed and fed you in the car while your big brother had a riding lesson- and I wasn’t really watching you as he was trotting away. Your little chubby legs on the passenger seat, kicking the gear stick were adorable though.
I’m sorry you are in your Jumperoo for ages while I help him with his puzzle. Thank you for looking on, adoringly at your big brother and easing my guilt. Can’t wait for you to be able to join in too. When you fall asleep in there and I transfer you to your cot, please know that guilt hits me like a train. Guilty you fell asleep on your own and were not gently rocked and cuddled and kissed. That puzzle was hard. Mummy’s really shit at puzzles and took longer than intended.
I’m sorry while I’m feeding you I’m usually yelling, “GET DOWN”, “DO NOT TOUCH THAT”, “GET OUT OF THE FRIDGE” etc. Not the calm bonding experience we expected is it?
I’m sorry you get covered in our food shop round Sainsbury’s. Out with a friend in a similar situation and we laughed over how her second baby was carrying her raw chicken on his lap in the pram. You are so helpful though. Sorry I left you in the trolley in aisle 10 while I chased your brother away from the sweets in aisle 9.
I’m sorry he seems to have had so much more than you. Everything new, undivided attention, loads of tummy time, long naps on Mummy’s chest. But remember little baby- you have something he didn’t have. You have him. And he’s pretty cool you know. I think you’ll like him. You already do.
I’m sorry your bath time is like a trip to the Wet ‘n’ Wild. He doesn’t mean to kick you in the head. But isn’t it sweet he wants to wash your hair?
I’m sorry I put a huge nappy on you once and tried to stand you up to pull your trousers up when you were a few weeks old. Wrong child. Forgive Mummy please she’s tried.
I’m sorry I make your little fist punch him. He finds it hilarious. He can’t wait till you can punch him for real. I have a feeling you will own him- you are so tough and strong and cool already. I’m sorry he yells “HELLO BUBBY” at you every time you wake up. Not cool that. And every time you cry he yells “BUBBY DON’T LIKE THAT”. No shit. I’m sorry you can only wake up peaceful two days a week when he’s at nursery.
I’m sorry I took time and care over his outfits and you get baby grows as they are easier. He had all these little shoes at your age and jeans and shirts. But hopefully you are way more comfortable anyway. He sometimes looked a bit of a twat too.
I’m sorry we’ve seen it all before. Your firsts are not ours. But second times are great too. I saviour you more, for I know you are the last. The last firsts. Something undeniably special in that.
I’m sorry that I worried that I couldn’t love another, the way I love him. I needn’t have, you came along and my heart expanded for you to a size I didn’t know it could.
I’m sorry I compare you to him. You are different. You are you. You are so bloody amazing. The best is yet to come too sweetheart and Mummy loves you.
And I’m sorry for this gushing, blubbing post. It will probably happen again though.