A Letter To Parker

To our precious little fox, on your third Birthday.

The fizz and excitement was unreal, the morning I popped my surgical socks and gown on. Although I’d been here twice before, the butterflies twist and danced in my belly, or that was your gentle kick of reminder that today was the day, I’d finally hold you in my arms. I could finally study your sweet delicate features whilst inhaling that tender newborn essence.

Nothing quite prepared us for the situation that had risen, as quick as a bolt of lightening, you was taken. It took 7 hours before I could anxiously peer into four glass panels, amongst the wires and bleeps of machines was a beautiful little boy.

My little foxy, those days were submerged in worry and pain. For each day we sat in the neonatal unit we watched nurses and doctors tend to your needs, as I watched on helplessly and hopefully. It dawned on me as each hour passed by, was a hour you fought for your precious life.

But here you are, so strong and full. I don’t know where or when the years have flown by. You’ve started to talk and express your interests of all things diggers and fire trucks, with a splash of Spider-Man for good measure. With each day you’ve lost your baby face as you grow into a little independent boy, you’ve successfully toilet trained taking to it so spontaneously… even if it’s meant I’ve lost a couple of new loo rolls for flushing entertainment purposes!

You’ve managed to clone your Father’s looks along with his attitude. I’m uncertain exactly where, if any, I got a look in with your genes! Your feisty little temper and little stroppy whines, never seem to be over looked from your tender loving nature. Your smile and growing personality can light the way in anyone’s darkened tunnel.

You bring so much joy around you.

It seems like you’ve completely missed out on the baby phrase as you waved goodbye to Peter Rabbit and welcome Marvel heroes, just to be like your Big Brother Luka. I’m not sure how long I’ve got, until your foxy no more. As you choose to be known as Spider-Man or is it iron man? Your fuzzy little foxy that kept you company, in your four glass panelled incubator. I often find him under your bed, looking so hopelessly lonely as Spider-Man teddy has taken the prized placement upon your pillow. Another little reminder you’re growing up so quickly and I can’t quite believe it so.

I absorb all the warmth and pride when you discover something new, did you jump twice on the spot, or kick a ball into the net. Your face radiates the most beautifully proud smile. You’re constantly asking questions with a burning desire to digest all the answers. You love the beach and have become quite a sea bug. Nothing fazes you, unless you’re in clothes that’s wet! With a preferred nakedness you confidently stroll across the beach to jump and swim around! You love to pick up rubbish and pop it in a bin.

I struggle to bare the thought of my precious little boy going to big boy school. The very last of my babies setting of on the path to independence. And I can’t wait to see you thrive and enjoy every moment of being at school with your older siblings. And as much as I know you three will keep each other safe and happy, my heart hurts a little knowing you’re all nearly grown out of mummy’s lap.

And just one day I’ll be told to stop squishing your big toe, you’ll always be my little baby, whether you end up taller than me or not!

Mummy loves you lots, my precious little fox.

Published by Mothering Silence

A late twenty-something mother of two boys and a profoundly deaf diva of almighty sass. In between splitting spontaneous sibling wars, curiatimg pillow forts and channeling inner superheroes. Mothering Silence documents a brutally honest truth of the trials and tribulations of motherhood. (The toughest hood.) Here you'll find the weekly ramblings of the rollercoaster life of my journey in motherhood. *Please note my style of writing is tongue in cheek.

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