I'm flat on my back with a lower back muscle spasm since Monday morning and finally worked out I can type by using son#2's little netbook open wide against two pillows balanced on my considerable stomach. Not a pretty sight. And I have far too much time to think despite the semi drugged fug brought about by difene and paracetamol.
It reminds me vividly of the time I was expecting son#2. He's twelve next week and I feel him slipping away from me daily. I'm glad for him - he's developing into a funny, caring human being and Jemser and I had something to do with that. But my baby boy!I was gi-bloody-normous and had back problems and chronic insomnia in the last trimester of that pregnancy. Many many nights were spent lying on the floor staring at the ceiling talking to our unborn child - telling him (or her at the time) how great it was all going to be when we finally met.
And it has been great,every single minute. That child never ever gave us a moment's worry. He is healthy, incredibly bright and funny. Like me he can be a bit awkward and is going through an incredibly sensitive phase but he is maturing faster than I ever did and his social skills will be better than mine ever were as a teen or young adult. He's not afraid to talk about how he feels or what plans he has for his future. So much potential.
But for another little while he will be my baby boy, still needing hugs and physical contact. Soon that will be forbidden by teenage withdrawal but it comes back, son#1 doles out bear hugs every so often - just 'cause I'm his Mam, and I cherish each one.
Neck and arms getting sore now, so back to contemplating the mysteries of parenthood and looking at my grubby ceilings. Jemser! Where's the paint brush?
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