I’ve been thinking of penning down some words and thoughts to you in the last few days but somehow nothing could make my fingers type on and on until today.
It was today when I called in this afternoon to check on how you were (you had a very bad session of frequent puking on Thursday night which resulted in us at KKH A&E on Fri morning and needing to go through some tests from 2am – 7am followed by fever on Sat and then frequent diahorrea on Sun till today) and heard you crying for me in the background “Mummy come home! Mummy come home!” that I failed to fight back that one tear which rolled down my cheek just before hanging up the phone.
I’ve been feeling guilty towards you for many months and weeks now. About being able to do lesser and lesser activities with you as I become less and less mobile these days. And as much as you feign nonchalance towards me not being able to shower you like before, or towards us trying to include and introduce to you your younger sibling be it through “I’m gonna be a Big Brother” books or getting you to feel baby’s movements; I know it affects you.
I know it affects you because I’ve seen that strange look you’ve flashed quite a few times each time your eyes meet a seemingly bigger belly greeting you in your face. I know it affects you because for the last few weeks you’ve been consistently calling out to me through the baby monitor at about 1am to come over and hug you, and you will sit up and wait for me to cuddle you and hold your hand before you will settle back to sleep. I know it affects you because the moment I am out of sight (with the exception of work) within our home you get a little tensed and start calling for me to come carry you. While these may or may not be a projection of my reality. I know it affects you because you are my son, and we have that special bond.
And knowing that everything has been affecting you affects me inadvertently. It dampens my mood. It heightens the littlest matters at the workplace even if it’s caused by others’ insensitivity. It even gave me some panic-stricken braxton hicks this evening (well most of that was caused by some unnecessary stress caused by people who do things without thinking) when I was trying to put you to bed. It sucks.
Which is why I’m doing my best to minimise the changes to come. I’ve managed to hire a confinement nanny at the eleventh hour so that I will be able to be there to spend your first week of orientation at the new school. I intend to continue spending quality time with you by reigniting the mummy & son dates we used to have. I will make an effort to be the accompanying parent instead of solely relying on your papa at swim class. And I will do my best to get you into your favourite music teacher’s private class even after leaving your current school because I know you enjoy her lessons so much.
The shift to our new home in about a month’s time will probably affect you too, but I hope with the new playground just downstairs and a huge park for you to play your ride-on vehicles and balance bike will be able to take off majority of that unfamiliarity. I promise you fun times ahead, just like the ones we’ve created together in our first home.
You’re such a joy Liam. A first miracle. A delight to be around with. And a very confident, inquisitive young fella whom we’re so proud of. You have so much love inside that little self of yours, I’m know that you will make a very good big brother. Know that you’re our first pride & joy and that you were the first to give us the gift of parenthood.
I love you so much and while I’m not eager for your little sibling to make an early entrance, I’m excited at our family’s growth. A year of change. Beautiful changes indeed.