Mother of Three, Mothering Two
It has been three years since I gave birth to William.
My son.
My second baby.
Every year as the 1st of September gets closer, I find myself thinking about him more. Not that there are days when I don't think about him. There are just times of year when his memory seems to sit closer to the surface.
I am a mother of three.
I mother two.
It's a strange sentence to live inside.
With Isla and Arthur, motherhood is loud. It's snacks, shoes, cuddles, stories, arguments, wiping faces and little hands reaching for mine.
With William, it is quiet.
I can't reach for him.
So I remember him.
And when I remember William, I don't imagine him as a three-year-old.
My mind doesn't really go to the life he could have lived or the little boy he might have become.
That was never reality or a possibility.
I think about the baby I knew.
His kicks.
God, he could kick.
He was so strong.
Before I ever saw his face, I knew him through movement. I knew the feeling of him stretching inside me. I knew those kicks that could stop me in the middle of whatever I was doing.
My body knew my son before my eyes ever did.
And then everything changed.
I went from feeling this strong little boy moving inside me to knowing there wouldn't be another kick.
And I had to give birth to him.
Still.
When they placed you in my arms, I wasn't meeting you for the first time.
I was saying goodbye.
I already knew you.
I was finally seeing the little boy I'd been feeling all those months.
And you were so tall.
My beautiful, long boy.
My winter bear.
My little lion man.
Three years haven't made those memories older.
They are still your kicks.
Still your long little body.
Still the songs that can take me back to you within seconds.
There are songs that will never just be songs again.
They belong to you now.
And maybe that's why I don't think of you as three.
I don't need to imagine who you might have become to miss you.
I miss you.
The William I knew.
The little boy who lived beneath my heart.
The baby I carried and knew from the inside before I ever got to hold him in my arms.
Three years is a long time to have lived without you.
And somehow no time at all.
My life has continued. I've continued mothering. Our house is loud and messy and full of little voices calling me Mummy.
But there will always be three when I count my children.
Isla.
William.
Arthur.
My daughter.
My first son.
My second son.
Three children who made me Mummy in three different ways.
I carried you.
I knew you.
I held you.
And I love you still.
Always.
— Mummy x
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