A Letter To: My Son, You’ll Have To Share Me Now


Last Saturday night, at 11.30, you should have been tucked up safely in your own bed on home soil. Instead, we were sat in Calais, tantalisingly close to the Channel Tunnel, but waiting for our second French tow truck of the day to come and rescue us and our banger of a car (by the time you are old enough to ask me about this journey, I may have just about psychologically recovered from the trauma). You had fallen asleep in my arms and as I held you close, I don’t think it was possible to have loved you more. It reminded me of the long nights we spent together when you were a newborn – I felt crushingly exhausted, but, staring at you, stroking your head, I had a familiar sense of sheer wonder that your dad and I had made you, our perfect boy. It feels strangely apt then, that in this moment, I felt the first stirrings of your new little brother or sister in my belly. For my darling, in just a few short months, life will change for all of us….

When I was pregnant with you, I spent far too much time fretting about your arrival – would I be able to love you? Would I be any good? I even had a sobbing fit in Mothercare when your dad dragged me there at 32 weeks to buy the essentials – if I couldn’t choose between two brands of baby themometers, how was I ever going to be ready to be a mum?! This time round though, I know I won’t feel so lost and that is because of you.

You have made me who I am today. You have shown me it’s possible to love someone more than I have ever loved anyone before. You have taught me I have more stamina than I ever knew I had. You have revealed to me that patience is in fact, a never-ending reserve. You have shared with me that the toddler world is a journey of sheer unadulterated joy and discovery, yet also one of frustrating mysteries. You have proved it’s humanly possible to read books with the same enthusiasm on the 12th sitting in a row as it was on the first. You have even educated me (via a very understanding A&E nurse) in how to shift a pea from your nose that you decided to shove up there during dinner! For all of these things you have done and everything else in between, thank you a million times over.

Your new brother or sister is a very much wanted addition to our family, but when you walk up to me and give me the biggest cuddle, there is a small part of me that feels sad for your blissful ignorance of how your world is about to change. That a new person will be gate-crashing our party, however invited they are. But there’s a much bigger part of me that is so looking forward to watching you become a big brother – when I see your amazement at other babies and how you tenderly share toys with them, I know you are going to be the best mate a little brother or sister could wish for.

Those early days as a family of four may be confusing for you, even unsettling. You may not have my full attention in the same way you do now. But, my curly-haired gorgeous bundle of energy and fun, I need you to know two things. Firstly, my love for you is constant and unwavering, you will not need to share my heart, my heart will grow. And secondly, as that line in our favourite book goes, “When things ever get too scary, Mummy Pig is there to give everyone a big piggy cuddle.” Don’t you ever forget that!

Love always, your mama xxx

This blog is part of our ‘A Letter To’ series.

Loving our work? Get more of it in your life by following us on TwitterInstagram and Facebook. Read more of our brilliant blogs here.
Got something to say? Join our #MGFBlogSquad.
Karen is a stay at home mum to one, with another one on the way. She's also responsible for a husband and a cat. An editor by trade, she hates cleaning (a problem given her domestic role), loves chocolate, and is weirdly good at pub quizzes. Her specialist Mastermind subject would be Neighbours.

This site uses Akismet to reduce spam. Learn how your comment data is processed.