This month mummy blogger Dolly Osborne tackles growing up
I remember my nephew’s 1st birthday: as my sister blew out the candles on the cake she started crying as her baby boy wasn’t ‘a baby anymore’. I was puzzled by it at the time but thought perhaps because my own bundle of joy was still a gurgling six-month-old, that I would grow to understand how she was feeling.
Years have passed and my boy has just turned 10, I’m also step mummy to 13 and nearly 15-year-old girls. Yet I still don’t understand.
And here’s the thing, I don’t think it’s my sister that is unusual; my social media is awash with the wail of childhoods disappearing, of babies being too grown up, the almost omnipresent mourning of childishness eroding to adulthood. It’s me who is the strange one, my feelings that seem to be at odds with the folk on the Clapham Omnibus (or certainly on the Mummy Facebook Pages; buses & buggies is a WHOLE other column).
You see I’m excited as my children grow. Sure, babies are very cute and super instagrammable but they are kinda, dare I say, boring. I loved it when my son started to tell me about his day, or when my daughter would give her opinion of the politics of the moment.
I love watching them grow and bloom; they become less a little version of me and more a real, wonderful person in their own right. It’s so exciting. My son is so woke; he gets angry about racism, misogyny and the environment. One daughter is a little feminist in the making and the other gives a brilliantly brutal social commentary. I just adore watching them get older. I don’t mourn the days of chubby legs, little giggles and those gorgeous rosy cheeks…well, maybe a little bit but hey, each year older is a step towards grandchildren right? THAT will be exciting!