Well, I faced it again. 17th June wasn’t baby boy3’s birthday and I made it through.
No toddler joyfully screaming, running amok, smearing cake everywhere, overtired and spoiled by their family and friends.
No midnight wake ups or relief at sleeping through.
No teething drool, no funny ways of saying new words.
No adjustments to new rooms at nursery.
No battle trying to think of new gifts for a third boy with 2 older brothers who have almost everything already. No recycling of books and toys.
No surveillance of my vegetables to prevent premature consumption.
No saying goodbye to the end of breast feeding.
No long walks with a heavy kiddo in the sling.
No drowsy snuggly cuddles.
No wars over what foods are edible and which are clearly poisonous.
No brotherly adoration and frustration, no sibling fights or obsessions.
One day, earlier this year, the boys were talking about their brother who wasn’t there. In an effort to prevent them from feeling too much loss, I reminding them of all the hard parts that we didn’t have to face after all – the screaming, the lack of sleep, the poo, the squashed car seats, the difficultly sharing. Large boy’s repost was “but mum, there would have been lots of good things too”. He was absolutely right. As with all things, there would have been positives and negatives. While grieving we no more need to dwell on the negatives associated with the thing we’ve lost, than we should idolise and imagine a missed opportunity for perfection. Boy3 would have been frustrating and adorable, beloved and awkward. That’s the honest truth.