You could be forgiven for forgetting I had recently had a third child, if you go only by my blogging of late. (If you know me in person, he’s hardly forgettable – I wear him everywhere I go 🙂 ). I don’t really know why I haven’t been moved to share every detail of either my third pregnancy or every minute of Rohan’s life-to-date. There’s a slight feeling of wanting to keep this one to myself, I think. He’s my last. My never-to-be-repeated. I already mentioned the little grieving process I was going through. It has been harder even than I anticipated, watching each day and week go by (so fast!) and knowing I would never again hold my one-day-old or one-week-old baby against my face and inhale that sweet baby scent. I will never again watch each little ‘first’ happen – first reach for a toy, first smile, first little vocalisations. So very very bittersweet.
I’m trying to shrug all that off though, as I enjoy this beautiful boy. We had a wonderful day and a half all alone on the weekend, opting out of a family do. Dermot’s grandmother has thirteen children, so we have a very large extended family; each year near her birthday we book a school camp for a weekend and four generations celebrate her birthday together. It’s actually lots of fun, but this time, I just needed a break. I needed to be not talked at for a bit, to not have to mediate every little grievance, to just hang out with my littlest one and do as little as possible. It was excellent. I think we both appreciated it.