Twelve Months On

My baby boy turned one year old on Saturday.

One year since he shot out of my vag looking like a member of the Blue Man Group and entered the world.

One year since he was whisked off to the NICU before I’d seen him, with Dan following promising to return with a photo.

One year since I told Dan that he must have photographed the wrong baby because “my baby isn’t Asian!”.

One year since I learned that jaundice and swollen eyes from birth canal trauma can do funny things to your baby’s face.

One year of learning and growing and winding his older brother up

And yet it feels like he’s been in our lives forever. Not in an “oh god, when will this annoying house guest ever leave?” way, more in the way that he filled a hole that we weren’t even aware was there.

I’ve learned in the last twelve months just how different children can be. Declan and Connor have been raised in exactly the same way, and yet you couldn’t find two children less alike. My eldest will leap off a platform twice his height and just hopes that he lands well, whereas Connor will cling to you if you take the corner too fast whilst you’re carrying him to the bedroom. Declan will bounce off walls and demands constant amusement, Connor is quite happy to sit and take in the world. Declan started walking at nine months old and woe betide anyone who wanted him to sit down and chill out, Connor has only recently started to crawl and will happily sit down and cuddle with anyone that asks.

I love Declan with every piece of me, just as I love The Conman, but my entire pregnancy I was petrified of having two of him, two kids with that level of energy and gusto would have flattened me. From day one Connor was a different baby, he still has the stubborn streak that his brother has, and believe me, if he doesn’t approve of something, he’ll let you know, but he’s not the hellbeast that Declan was, and to an extent, still is. He’s calm, he’s quietly determined and he loves human touch. He is my little boob monster, my bed buddy in the mornings when he wakes up and wants cuddles, my living garbage disposal that will eat anything that looks like it might have at one stage been edible. The telly holds no interest for him, but he’s very aware of the world around him, and his play focuses more on mimicry, probably because he takes so much in.

I’m not sure how he’ll grow up, I’ve always said that Connor’s my rugby player and his brother is the soccer star, based soley on their build. I think he will be athletic and I think his silent resolve will get him further in certain elements of life than his brother’s brash way of taking on the world, I also think if he keeps on eating in the way he currently is we’re going to have to add extra suspension to the car.

So happy birthday my little Conman, thank you for filling that gap in our lives that we didn’t know we had, thank you for teaching your brother that he isn’t the centre of the universe and for teaching me that not everything is my fault, but that every baby is different from the next

And if you could walk sometime before college, that would be awesome.

Love always,

Mummy xxx

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