Tonight I couldn’t tidy up OB’s room. I straightened his bedding and began to tidy his trains into their basket. I stood up and looked back at his bed, neatly made with his handmade quilt on top and his adored stuffed animals lined in a row and I began to cry.
I have 50/50 custody with his father which means that, for half the week, I can barely look into his room. I can’t look at his bed at night without thinking that he should be asleep in it, next to my room, next to me. This is certainly not a new feeling and I have grown accustom to the sensation similar to someone squeezing my heart. My chest tightens and I grimace. I never knew an emotion could have a physical manifestation until I had a child. Of course I had heard of it but I only experienced it as a mother.
On a good day, I am proud of myself for having left a situation that was making me unhappy. I remind myself that OB is thriving and is an amazing little person. On a bad day, I wonder if my decision to leave will have a lasting, negative effect on him. I wonder whether or not he thinks about me when I’m not with him and whether or not he wonders why Mumma isn’t there. What if I miss something?
I struggle with many aspects of being separated from him and in moments of weakness, I crumble.
Today I saw an Instagram user, whom I follow, that only days ago lost her baby as he was being born. The cord was wrapped around his precious little neck and he didn’t make it. I have no words to describe how sorry I am for the family and for the mother who was so prepared to nurture and love her little boy but won’t have the chance. I will see my little man on Saturday morning but she will have to farewell hers forever. Perspective is a powerful thing.
I feel like a ‘part time’ parent, something that I never thought I would have to feel, but I am lucky enough to be a parent at all.
I am going to finish tidying up OB’s room tonight, even if it’s through foggy, tear splattered glasses, because that’s what Mums do.
Peace and precious, precious little ones.