The joy of being Freddie's mum.
Thoughts and moments throughout the years.
I'm feeling very nostalgic on the eve of my son's third birthday. I have written a lot about the challenges and the dark, gritty moments of motherhood, but I don't often write about the joy of being Freddie's mum. I'm not sure if I write to acknowledge and work through the rough, milk-stained patches or if I believe in telling the real story. Some may find it negative or triggering and jarring. Still, the raw stories of motherhood are rare but crucial for us to feel seen and understood and connected in a very disconnected world and for the next generations of mothers. There is so much lightness to motherhood. So much growth and learning and evolving for the better, and our little souls should be celebrated for their beautifully complex individuals.
Today, I'm writing about the profound happiness my son brings me just by existing. Here are a series of thoughts and moments in the mundane.
When I first laid eyes on Freddie, he had (and still has) the most perfect-shaped head I had ever seen. Even after enduring long labour (and vaginal birth), I remember being in awe of him. How could I have created someone so beautiful, so perfect, and I still look at him the same way.
When Freddie was a newborn, it was rare he was at peace, but sometimes, in the dead of night, I'd watch him sleep, and those were the moments when the world felt lighter; I felt I must be doing something right.
When he tried his first purées, he would shudder and scrunch his little nose like I'd given him a sour warhead. It was the most adorable thing.
He’s always been funny. I remember he’d shove three dummies in his mouth just to make us laugh.
The way his eyes seem to find me in any crowded room. He's never too far. I used to get so exhausted by his clinginess, but now I see all he ever wanted or needed was me. His safe place.Â
In the car, I put on his playlist of truck-themed songs (yes, my Spotify Wrapped is embarrassingly attuned to the taste of a vehicle-obsessed child filled with Blippi, Truck Tunes and Cocomelon), and he sings like a drunk at karaoke. Skipping words he doesn't know or yelling the parts he really likes. He giggles and dances and demands, "Mum, sing!"
He's always loved the water. From the pool to the beach to puddles and spray bottles, Freddie loves playing in any body of water. The joy of watching him work out the button on the base of a bubbler, designed for dogs to push and be able to drink. Trying to fill a plastic Tupperware container, tongue out for concentration, then the proud look on his cherub face when he finally got it. He was saturated. Sitting in half water, half dog drool but with that mega-watt smile across his face, will be etched in my mind for eternity.
When we watch tv, I can see him staring at me from the corner of my eye. He quickly looks away. I look at him. We repeat this and end up in hysterics.
I can hear them playing. Freddie often bosses my husband around, "daaaad! Make the cubby!" Then turns into a conversation, "what am I going to do today?" Listening to them chatting back and forth, without them knowing (and me in bed!)… bliss!Â
Each morning he walks into my room, often before sunrise (terribly ungodly). I hear his 10 little footsteps until he stops beside my bed and says, "good morning!" with a grin from ear to ear. I open my eyes, and he asks, "did you have a good sleep?" I respond, "Yes, I did and you?" He always says, "I had a big sleep, mum."
Freddie has always been shy and would attach to my leg at the park until he was just over two. Witnessing him growing confidence, asking others if they'd like to play, talking to strangers about diggers, and smiling at little old ladies in the supermarket – this has to be one of the greatest joys.Â
He's often taken over by his emotions. Screaming over seemingly nothing, laying on the floor in Westfields or anywhere for that matter, making demands as toddlers do. After he finally calms down. He will often sit in silence, reflecting on what just happened. I can see his mind working, then he will tell me, "I was really upset then Mum but I'm ok now." And when I ask why, he will say he doesn't know or try to explain what happened. These are the conversations I hope we keep having as he grows.
It doesn't matter how often I hear it; when Freddie says, "I love you, mum", I melt every time.
Watching him play at the beach. It's genuinely his happy place digging in the sand with his trucks.
Listening to him talk about trucks or anything he is excited about. The passion. The enthusiasm. The intensity. Seeing him light up over something so simple as driving next to a truck is beautiful.