I read a lot of blogs on the run-up to number two. I say ‘run up’ but in reality it was more of a steep slug up Everest walking through treacle while dragging a horse-drawn-carriage.
I was already suffering a mild bout of gender disappointment. No dolls house or My Little Ponies for me. Yet. But I was more preoccupied with love.
Would I love him? How would it be possible when I was already so full of love for mini man number one? I mean, he’s totally mad, but I love him. Like, REALLY love him. The kind of love that makes the back of your throat ache and stops you breathing.
No, there was definitely no more room in me for another child.
And then, 3 and a half weeks early the little sausage arrived. And he went straight to the Neo Natal Unit.
There’s nothing that beats the desperation of a mother who can’t hold her baby for 36 hours after the birth, and I worried – oh, how I worried – whether it would stop me bonding.
Then there he was. Hooked up to every wire and tube the hospital had, nestled in his incubator with a soft toy which had more meat on its bones than my baby did.
And I couldn’t have cared less if he was a croc-wearing unicorn, he was mine. And there it was – just what every blog I’d ever read (and disbelieved) had said. I loved him. Exactly the same.
Welcome to the world, baby Gabe.