When I was growing up, my mother and I shared a very special relationship. I had two younger brothers, but I felt that the relationship that my mum and I shared was particularly special. I also listened to her speak about the bond with her own mother the same way, so I wanted to be another link in the chain.
When it was my turn to have babies, my first was a boy. I wasn’t concerned at all by this – I wanted to have a baby and it had taken my husband and I about a year to conceive despite some fairly enthusiastic trying (think ovulation tracking vs mindless banging). When that baby boy was in my arms, I never wanted to let him go. He’s now almost four, and he is my kindred spirit. He’s like me in so many ways and we fully understand each other.
When I got pregnant again, it was for the ‘last time’. My husband and I had only ever wanted two children. From the start I convinced myself this child was a boy, because I didn’t want to believe it could be a girl. But in the back of my mind, I was hoping to have the nice ‘surprise’ of expecting a female baby. I told everyone (including myself) that it didn’t matter what the baby’s sex was, that I would be thrilled, regardless. I built myself a Donald Trump sized wall to avoid disappointment.
Watch: We asked The Motherish community the time they felt like a bad mother. Post continues after video.