My children have no first cousins. 2 brothers and a sister between my husband and I, but no likelihood of kids. Never say never but chances appear slim.
A family or not. For the lucky - their own choice. Some independent and strong, who wish not their world to stop. Or one day look around and feel they’ve grown too old - missed the boat. Some who simply crave it not at all.
And me. I mourn their missing babies more than they should know. Flesh and blood of our own. Hands I would hold and children I’d watch grow.
But I say not a word. Of baby skin or over-whelming love. Of summer limbs and winter bobble hats and gloves. Of tired smiles and hungry cries and gabbled early words. Cheeks and lips and baby fists and home from school with Mum.
A drop in the ocean to list the above.
And I’m not sure they quite see this love. Recognise instead the trying stuff. ‘Running you ragged and keeping you up?’
‘Yes. But my biggest love. For now and all the years to come. It’s bloody amazing being a Mum.’
I don’t say this - or not as such.
But I feel their non-existent loss. The path they’re happy not to walk.
Cousins for a girl and boy. A non-existent pride and joy... x
Today I'm linking up to 'Wednesday Words' which can be found every week over at Crazy With Twins