I have so many precious and funny memories raising my children. My eldest son who frowned on the weighing scales at just two weeks old. His eyebrows and his beautiful dark eyes. Playing, teaching him and watching him grow. His glee when I bought him a toy washing machine when he was two years old and the time spent watching him stuff socks in it so that he could watch them whizz around. The time that I was called in to school because he was drawing circles above his letter i’s. The pride I felt when I was told that he was gifted and talented. The pride at passing his 11+ and going to Grammar school. The despair as I noticed he was wearing trainers instead of shoes with smart trousers for his school ball. The pride I feel at his organisation and kindness.
My youngest son playing with his toy garage before he could walk, how he’d line his cars up. His beautiful mop of golden curls The despair at the times I would get called into primary school because he’d decided to go for a wander around the school, kept making excuses to go to the toilet. The times I chased him around a car or he refused to get out of the car. The time he ran around the Dr’s surgery because he knew that he was getting an injection. The pride I felt with his art achievements, passing his 11+, going to grammar school, setting up his own graphic design on You-tube and actually making money!
My daughter, the pride I felt getting a pink one. Cutting her own beautiful hair and leaving chunks under the table, trying to climb onto a cooker and pulling everything out of cupboards. The humour as I watched her kick her shoes off when she was still in a pushchair because she wanted to buy more. The time nursery told me to not put black leggings in her changing bag because she kicked up a big fuss. The way she learned quickly how to use double innuendo’s. The pride in how friendly and kind she is to people. The nice feeling as I listen to her sing happily as she plays alone in the garden followed by agile gymnastics (no she isn’t trained). Then tonight I find an egg from the kitchen in her bedroom. The egg is wrapped up in tissue. Apparently she is trying to hatch a chicken to knit it some pyjamas. She was very dismayed when I told her that she might be waiting a long time for it to hatch.
I have many more memories of holidays and adventures in this country and abroad. And memories of battles we’ve had to face. The time that we got drenched and caught in a storm watching the Olympic torch pass.
I think what is fascinating with raising three children is how different each one of them is from each other and how challenging that in itself has been and also how my parenting has evolved. I’ve reached a point where I’ve gained experience and feel more confident than ever in my parenting ability. That first child is definitely a learning curve.
And now that I feel more confident and experienced. They’re getting older, we’re entering a new phase, I’m learning more and experiencing new despair, happiness and pride. But as we enter this new phase I’m left with rich memories.
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