If you’ve been following the last few posts of mine, you’ll know that my little boy Ben turned 6 months old. He’s begun the messy, chaotic process that is weaning and is quite the keen […]
If you’ve been following the last few posts of mine, you’ll know that my little boy Ben turned 6 months old. He’s begun the messy, chaotic process that is weaning and is quite the keen little swimmer, and this week he has set out all on his own.
OK I exaggerate, which is something I’ve not done in at least a hundred years. (Great, I’m even telling jokes like my dad now. Next step, gray hair!) But seriously, as far as a 6-month-old can venture off alone, he is—for Ben has moved into his own room.
No more will his cot be in our room, with me stubbing my toe on it at least three times a day. (This time I’m not exaggerating.) No more will we have to tiptoe around to not disturb him. No more will our bedroom TV be some unused ornament on our wall, and you know what?
I hate it!
I thought I wouldn’t, though. Before he came, when I learned that one of the guidelines for newborns is that they should be in the same room as mum and dad for six months, I thought I was going to lose the freedom I loved at bedtime. But I was so wrong. From the second he was here and in our room at night, I’ve loved it, and now that time is over.
It’s only been a few days, but I miss that when I come to bed late I can look at my beautiful boy sleeping close to my beautiful partner, her head turned towards him and his towards her. I miss the sound of his breathing when I’m drifting off to sleep and his little chats to himself when he firsts wakes up. I miss being able to sit up and see him peaceful and dreaming.
I even miss when he wakes me up with wind (of the bottom kind).
My bedroom feels too big and too empty without him in it, and although it is amazing that he has moved into his own room and settled perfectly with no issues, it’s another reminder that he is growing up fast. I love the idea of my boy being an independent person, but it’s sad to think he needs me a little less as he does grow.
It’s not all sad, though. There is something that I love about him moving into his own space beyond the reclaiming of our TV and our ability to chat in bed without it being a whisper and my toes not suffering by being bashed so often, and that’s first thing in the morning.
You see, when he does wake and starts to chat to himself or call out for us, I now have to walk across our landing into his room. When I pop my head around his doorframe, the smile he gives is enough to brighten my entire world. Every moment of it. I may have had a bad sleep—constantly checking to see he is OK, or I may have a stressful day ahead with deadlines or competition or exam marking and usually I’d be grumpy to be up at half past 5 in the morning, but his smile lets me know he loves me, and I think to myself that nothing else matters.
And it doesn’t. Yes he’s growing up and yes he’s becoming more independent but it really doesn’t matter as long as he loves me.