Dear William - Week 48

Hello poppet,

Firstly - apologies for the goofy photo! You were chatting away and it made me laugh!

Another week down. You turned 11 months old on 12^th May, and I realised, very quickly, how fast you have grown up. I say it every week – and maybe these letters have become repetitive in a way – but it’s almost a year and even writing this makes the hairs on my arms stand on end. We have almost come full circle now.

I remember the day you turned one day old, and the day you turned one week old, and I would hold you and wait for the clock to turn 12:22pm and I would smile and my eyes would fill with happy tears. Soon I’ll be able to look back a whole year and this time, I’ll be looking at a cheeky, smiley little boy who is looking up at me as a he stands, chewing, most likely, on a stuffed crocodile.

How did this happen?

I’m sure you would rather know about how you were doing at eleven months, or 48 weeks old, instead of reading your old mum’s soppy thoughts. So I’ll tell you.

You are fully capable of standing on your own, as well as walking, but you are a smart cookie and you don’t fancy taking a step back (excuse the pun) in terms of speed, as you are well aware that walking will take you longer to get from A to B. So you go for it and then you see the thought process flit across your face and you frown and seem to shrug and go “nah” and you get on your knees and crawl instead. And boy can you crawl – I’ve never seen a baby move so fast. And you like to be chased too – you look over your shoulder and cackle and crawl away as fast as you can. You can hear your excited breathing as we watch your bottom scoot off into the kitchen. It’s adorable.

You are also very chatty and I can tell you are trying to form words all the time. You are saying: mama, dada, gruyere (which is Granny we think), yes, yum, hiya and dog. You also bark. I can’t believe that I have just written that but yes, if Max barks, or Milo and Juno, we get a: “wurf” from you.

You have proper hair now – you are still so fair, which makes me smile as sometimes you don’t look like our son at all in your complexion. But your Daddy and I were blondies too for a time, believe it or not. I love your hair, I love stroking down your fluffy bed head and it makes you look much more boy-like.

You have also developed a little stranger anxiety recently, and a full knowledge of what it feels like to be left. There are times, at the moment, when only I will do. Which is both lovely and hard, because I cherish your affection, but it can be difficult to get anything done, and difficult for your dad too, when you squirm away from him. Hopefully it will end soon – as this isn’t like you!

I’m honestly looking forward to being the mother of a toddler and a little boy – I can’t wait to have conversations with you. And laugh together. But for now, I’m quite content to be needed by little baby.

I love you.

Mama xxx

Keeping it real yo'

The other day, I was indulging in my Instagram addiction, snapping various selfies and shots of William, when someone remarked how I don't share much of myself, apart from my face. And it's true.

I don't like my figure. I never really have done. Especially not now. I sometimes look at my reflection and feel a hot wash of shame flow over me and it's a horrible sensation. Admittedly, I do resort to making my mum tum talk for a little light relief, but even then it's false bravado. And for who? Just myself.

The stretchmarks. The lumps. The sag. The boobs that are often scratched and bruised after been manhandled by a baby for over eleven months now. My skin feels dull. My razor can be neglected for a fortnight before I realise that my legs are looking a little too much like Chewbacca's. I have a huge bottom, noticeably so. My thighs are wobbly at best. My arms are beefy. My waist is small, sure, but it's emphasised by the big hanging mass that is my mum tum.

So I don't show it often. People don't need to see that. But then I sort of felt I should that evening - so I did. There's nothing I'm hiding per se, more just, concealing from view because it makes me feel better.

Excuse the awful Instagram shot. And the size of my arse. And the state of my carpets.

Instead I rely on my face. Because I a) have one and b) own a lot of makeup with which to improve it. I'd be a hermit if not for concealer.

I like to paint a certain picture, craft a certain representation of myself, because the reality isn't always that pretty. It's not even to do with blogging - it's life. I don't meet strangers and go: "Hi, nice to meet you. I'm Charlotte, hates fish but strangely enjoys the smell of my dog's feet." I'm an over-sharer and even for me that's too much.

So here are a few things that I don't really shout about that often, but are so very true:

• My big toes are so big they look like a grown man's thumbs.
• Me and Stephen don't have a perfect relationship, but we do have a lot of love. Between the moments of stony silence and bickering that is. Welcome to parenthood kids.
• Despite being known as a good cook, sometimes I do enjoy a good, old kiddy meal consisting of chicken nuggets, chips and beans.
• I'd benefit from a hearing aid, but I don't want one.
• How much I love my son scares me.
• Yet, when William is screaming, head-butting the floor or pulling my hair, I just want to hand him to the nearest available adult - dog will do - and go to bed. For a week.
• Yes, I do find my dog's pongy feet oddly comforting.
• I'm jealous of my mum for getting to spend her days with William.
• I get angry when I hear other mums whinge about their children when, mostly, I just miss mine.
• I miss having lots of friends - because motherhood at 24 and an accidental case of 'growing up too quickly' can leave your friendship barrel a little empty.
• Sometimes, I'll just look at the state of my house, sigh, and turn the light off and go to bed. It can wait.
• I had a baby out of wedlock! Shock horror. But really, I feel sad that my boys, dog included, have the same surname and I'm the odd one out.
• I spend a lot of time wondering what it feels like to be thin.
• I spend a lot of time wondering: "what if?"
• I have learnt the perfect angle at which to take a selfie and any photos that highlight my double chin, or similar, end up getting deleted. 
• The carpets in my house mainly look like this (not by choice might I add):

Do you appreciate how nice and big I made this?

The countdown to one

It was easier then.

When it was months away.

Passing slowly.

In the distance, far away.

But now I must say.

It is weeks, just weeks.

I can’t ignore the time.

A mother admits defeat.

For her baby is growing.

Soon to be one.

The race to a birthday.

The countdown, begun.

She worries herself.

Making plans, baking cakes.

Browsing gifts and sentiments.

The first card, she will make.

Her baby boy. 

Now a full head of hair.

Unsteady feet.

But blissfully unaware.

For he’s soon to toddle.

He’s soon to be one.

He’s having a birthday.

We’ll invite everyone.

His mother is thoughtful.

Furrowed brow, bitten lip.

It has become bittersweet for her.

She reflects as she sits.

For once you were so tiny.

Little mite, tiny boy.

Almost a year ago.

You arrived; bundle of joy.

So as the weeks pass.

Through the sands of time.

I’ll hold onto those moments.

Sweet child of mine.

The countdown to one.

How fast it has come.

This is for you WJ. Before your first birthday.