The Bittersweet Beauty of Growing Up: Reflections on My Son's Birthday
- nelbourne
- Aug 10
- 3 min read
Every year, birthdays come round with the same anticipation and excitement. The children's faces light up as they count down the days, and we, as parents, try our best to fill their special day with happiness and joy. This week, my oldest turned seven, and whilst it was a wonderful celebration, it left me reflecting on the complex emotions that birthdays seem to bring.
I had grand plans to take him to Legoland – a fun-filled day out somewhere extra special to show just how special he is. After all, he loves Lego, he's obsessed with Ninjago, and the pirate show would have been right up his street. But when I suggested it, he surprised me with his response. He didn't want to sit in the car all day. Instead, he wanted to get up, enjoy his presents, and have a lazy morning at home.
This moment revealed something beautiful about my son's growing maturity. He knew what he wanted, had formed his own opinions, and held rational expectations about his day. His suggestion seemed far more sensible than my elaborate plans. He wanted to go to a soft play, so we found one a bit further afield – Bury Lane Farm Shop and Fun Barn near Royston in Cambridgeshire – somewhere that offered more of a day out than our usual local warehouse soft plays.
We had a wonderful day as our little family of four, followed by a small picnic for a few school friends at our house the following day. He thoroughly enjoyed his birthday, delighted in his presents, and we all savoured the quality family time together. By any measure, it was a successful birthday celebration.
So why do I feel this pain?
Every year, as birthdays approach, I find myself retreating from the world, not wanting to interact with it. I feel irritable, knowing the date is creeping closer and closer. Perhaps it's because this day signifies the unstoppable passage of time – that my days with my babies are numbered, that they're growing into adults who will eventually spread their wings and fly the nest.
Maybe it's because I'm genuinely enjoying this phase of life but worry I'm not always giving it my full attention. Life gets in the way, doesn't it? We all make excuses – "I'll do it tomorrow" – whilst work and adult tasks sometimes take precedence. Is it mum guilt whispering, "Have I done enough?"
The contradiction is real: I love watching my children grow. I'm fascinated by their developing personalities, the way their interests and preferences solidify, and how they learn to interact and share who they are with the world. I genuinely look forward to the future, yet I still feel the pain of what's passed.
The baby naps on the sofa are long gone now, but I still yearn for them. Those quiet, peaceful moments when time seemed to stand still – when their whole world was safe in my arms.
At this time of year, my mind also drifts back to the horrendous start this little boy had in life. Born at 26 weeks, he spent the first 100 days of his life not with me and his family, but in a hard plastic incubator, being prodded and poked with needles, enduring operations and breathing tubes. Instead of the gentle environment of the womb – with its muffled sounds and gentle swaying – he was surrounded by harsh beeping, loud talking, and bright lights.
I think of the worry our family faced every single hour, wondering if he would even survive the next. We lived in uncertainty, not knowing what his future would hold, what challenges lay ahead, or even if there would be a future at all.
And now here he is – seven years old, with strong opinions about his birthday plans, choosing quality time over grand gestures, showing wisdom beyond his years. The contrast is overwhelming.
Perhaps these birthday blues are simply the price of love – the ache that comes with caring so deeply for these little people who are growing up before our eyes. Maybe it's normal to feel the weight of time's passage when we're reminded so clearly of how precious and fleeting these moments truly are.
As I watch him grow, I'm learning to hold both the joy of who he's becoming and the grief of who he's leaving behind. Both feelings can coexist, and both are valid parts of this beautiful, heartbreaking journey we call motherhood.
Every birthday is a celebration not just of another year of life, but of resilience, growth, and the incredible journey that brought us to this moment. And for that, despite the complex emotions, I am endlessly grateful.
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