The unexpected sadness in watching our children grow up

I have come to realise that whilst we celebrate each milestone and watch with pride how our children learn to navigate the world around them; rolling, sitting, crawling, standing, walking, running, jumping... With each new ability the door to the previous stage has closed.

Of course, this is what being a parent is all about. Nurturing your child, guiding them and seeing them take steps to become their own person. We 'yay' at their achievements and hold them when they (or we) need support, but no one ever talks about how this process can also bring bouts of sadness.

Sometimes I feel like I have a hole in my chest and every time I realise that my boys have changed, moved up a notch towards freedom, the hole is replaced with a slightly different shape. So there are little bits missing. The lego phase, the making experimental food phase, the superhero phase, the monster truck phase, the play-doh phase...(not my favourite), the 'I want to wear 10 hats' phase, the 'can we do a show for you' phase...

I feel a version of grief when I think about my youngest, with his chubby cheeks and big blue eyes trying to walk across the room at his toddler class. He waddled and swayed, managed to keep upright and then collapsed in my arms for a big cuddle and lots of praise. That child is no longer here.

Or when we were camping and I went into the hall and found him sitting by a table enjoying both his breakfast and the view outside. I look at that photo and can still feel how his fleece pyjamas felt against my skin as I held him.

The boy he is growing into is amazing. He is so funny and has a very sharp wit. He is far more clever than he lets on and has a natural talent for drawing. I would of course not want to change him for the world, but I do miss that chubby cheeked, cuddly little boy.

My oldest boy's amazement at how tadpoles became frogs, is only a memory. His excitement of talking to Father Christmas on the phone, is now a video. The last time I breastfed my youngest, is a photo.

They were both so excited when they could paint on the window during lockdown.

I first thought about this the other day when my youngest said he was too big to hold my hand as I collected him from school. I froze.

I had already gone through this with my oldest and wasn't ready for this with my youngest. Being a few years younger, he has been a bit of a security blanket as my oldest has progressed towards being a teenager.

I started thinking about all the other things I missed, and realised how heavy that loss felt. And I questioned if I am allowed to feel that loss when my boys are healthy and growing up to be such lovely people. It felt as if I should just be grateful and move one, but the reality is that watching your children grow is a constant 'good-bye' to the child they were yesterday.

This is of course not to take away from anyone who has lost a child in the real sense. There can never be a a comparison. I am savouring all the 'new firsts' whereas parents who have lost a child can only imagine them.

Luckily, it appears that the 'no holding hands' was just a blip. It's fine now and I have felt that little hand slide into mine again. I will try to prepare myself for when the day comes when that door really closes, but I am not sure I if that is possible.