In three days time it will be a month until Simba turns 4. *Deep breath* FOUR?! Where the fecking hell did the past four years go!? I was 16 a minute ago and cradling a newborn in my arms, how did I suddenly reach being 20 and with a tall bubbly hysterical preschooler? It really is a case of blink you you’ll miss it!
The thing is I don’t feel like a young parent really any-more, I feel like I’m an experienced parent now, I’ve been through four years of parenting, the highs and the lows, I’m no longer a new parent, I’m an OAP one now! I have however LOVED being a young parents, for me there were so many benefits to being a young parent to my little monkey. I know alot of young women who find it hard going being a young parent because of the stares, the comments, the stigma, the attitudes. I’ve been lucky that I haven’t encountered them a great deal, maybe I’ve been in the wrong places? Maybe I’ve just not approached the wrong people? Or maybe its due to the fact people generally seem to think I’m a hell of a lot older than I am. Either way I haven’t had some of those experiences and so I’ve enjoyed being a Mum at 16, 17, 18, 19, 20. Its been so much fun.
I’ve grown up and matured with Simba
|Cuddles – August 2010|
I’ve been fit enough to tear around after him on the beach whilst Grandma stands back and wonders where I find my energy from.
I’ve been young enough that my recovery from the horrendous birth wasn’t too long
I’ve been able to see the world through new eyes again
I’ve been mellowed and calmed through my son testing my patience.
I’ve been on a journey of discovery which continues every day.
I’ve made friends with various other women of ALL ages
I’ve watched my best friend recently become a “young” mum to twins at 20 and been able to offer her all the advice no one ever did with me.
I’ve been able to help with research into services for young parents
I’ve cried with Simba and I’ve laughed with him.
The past four years have been filled with so many memories, my hard drive showing the brunt of that today with the amount of folders of images I have. I’ve documented almost every second of Simba’s life with the camera, needless to say I’m sure he curses me secretly for it. I’ve written. I’ve blogged. I’ve videoed. I’ve memorised. Each second of his existence, treasured each smile, each milestone, each new word, each new hilarious moment as my little comedian develops, as his imagination leaps to new limits, to places I even struggle to imagine, but to him are so real.
We’ve dealt with his reflux carrying on past 18 months, the upset, the stress, the towels, the clothes, the appointments.
We’ve overcome the fussy eating.
We’ve dealt with dropping bottles at night.
We’ve managed to get him into his own bed at night, even if he does come and co-sleep in the early hours. We’ve dropped the dummy after the *dummy fairy* visited.
We’ve started nursery and made new friends.
We’ve learnt numbers and some letters.
We’ve developed our computer skills and we’ve listened to thousands of stories and made up hundreds of our own.
Four years have been filled with so many memories and yet there are decades more to go. Am I excited at the prospect of him growing up? Maybe thats another post…