Aimee Horton

When they are so very different.


FINALLY FINALLY FINALLY, at the age of approximately seventeen months Fatso has started walking.

To me this seems horrendously late.  After all, the horrible one was practically there on his first birthday, and went hell for leather straight into running not long after that.  Even then that seemed pretty late to me, but how was I to know?

From the minute I got pregnant I knew my two children would be different.  I mean, we all know “no baby is the same”.  But, well, you kinda think they will be in some ways don’t you?  However, as I’m a little emotional as my baby starts settling in to the next room at nursery, and my eldest baby starts school in September, I’ve begun to reflect on just how different they are.


I’m gutted to say, I didn’t suit pregnancy.  As much as I wanted it, neither of them caused me to glow particularly.  Other than that sweat you get due to constant vomiting and nausea.

With The Beast, I had complications.  Obviously.  Firstly they thought he was eptopic, then I bled, and then he was teenytiny, so I had to go through the whole steroid injections and “HE COULD BE OUT ANY MOMENT PACK YOUR BAGS NOW” malarkey from probably about 27/28 weeks.  Just to add to that, after they signed me off work, he grew, and was breech, but as I had no fluid he was a c-section.  I wasn’t sick particularly.  But always full. If I ate anything it was pineapple, onken lemon moussee, and coco pops, with the odd need for salty fish and chips.  I didn’t throw up once.  Everybody was surprised I was close to my due date. He came delicately and quietly into the world on Thursday 7th August 2008 weighing a perfectly respectable 6lb 7oz.

With Fatso I threw up constantly from day one until approx. 24 weeks. I was hormonal, emotional, and HUGE (nothing to do with adoring skittles and chocolate).  I used to pull my car over on the A1 on my daily drive to Doncaster to vomit on my way to work, and at 7 weeks strangers were coming up to me asking The Beast if he was excited about having a little brother or sister.  Everybody thought I was having twins.  Luckily they confirmed I wasn’t.  I was in constant pain due to internal bruising from the horrible one, and could barely walk.  I was signed off work early, and agreed on another elective due to the fact that he was massive, and I’m 5ft 1 with a teeny tiny pelvis.  I had contractions on and off for weeks prior to due date, and at the tills of Next one day the happy skinny bitch lady said “oooh not long for you now” and when I responded with “about 10 more weeks” she said “NOOOOO YOU’RE WAY TOO HUGE FOR THAT”.  Fatso was finally hauled into the world loudly, gargling on my popped waters on Monday 25th October 2010.  To the crys “WOW HE’S MASSIVE” at again, a perfectly respectable 8lb 4oz.


So there you are.  I have had two babies.  Both boys.  Completely opposite ends of the spectrum.

The Beast, small, delicate, fitting into premmie clothes and nappies, refluxy, full of colic, constantly vomiting and fully wanting to be on the go ALL THE TIME.  He was impatient, fed every hour, refused a dummy, refused a bottle (giving in after a 13 hour hunger strike), and didn’t sleep until he had meat.  I had to rock him to sleep until he was 3 months old.  I used to stand with a constant bounce, even if I wasn’t holding him I’d bounce, it was in my nature.  The child wasn’t content ANYWHERE but on me.  He screamed in his bouncy chair, SCREAMED in the car, SCREAMED if he was lying on his back, and SCREAMED if he was lying on his front.  He hated lying flat in his pram.  My expensive BEAUTIFUL Bugaboo was converted swiftly (against my better judgement) to the pushchair setting.  He was always in a hurry to grow up.  He’s always appeared grown up with a full head of hair, and skinny little boy body and face.

Tiny Baby

FATSO on the other hand, considering he was screaming when he was born (for food) was amazingly content.  Took bottle and breast, and THANK GOD a dummy.  He spent his days happily snuggled into his chair watching his brother, the TV, or just snoozing away.  He slept through from 8 weeks old and was the amazing laid back baby.  He didn’t hit the milestones in quite the same pace, but I was secretly pleased.  After all, I loved that he was calm, didn’t race to grow up, after all, he is my last (sob).

Chunky Monkey

The speed they grew was also amazingly  different.  Whilst The Beast lasted forever in clothes, Fatso grew at an alarming rate, barely fitting in stuff for more then one airing.  He was always one age range ahead of his sizing, whereas The Beast is always one behind.


Now Fatty can toddle. He’s referred to as a “toggler” by us all, mainly by The Beast.  They’ve changed again.

As soon as The Beast could crawl and walk he was very content.  Slept well, ate everything you put in front of him, and whilst he had his tantrums (and boy did he have HORRIFIC tantrums), I was able to sit on him.  He was like a little boy.

The Fat one on the other hand is becoming higher maintenance.  Frustrated that it’s hard to heave his massive head and pudgy thighs everywhere he gets grumpy, head-butts the wall/your legs/the sofa (why do they do this?! Never experienced this before), and hasn’t slept properly for months due to his ridiculous need for his dummy.  He’s is far less independent and clingy.  Whilst The Beast would get his drink off the shelf next to his bed, fatty sits and cries until you get it for him, or if he dares to get it, he stands up and inevitably falls over.  However, the fat one plays SO much better.  He actually sits and explores toys, he LOVEs to play, whereas The Beast never did.  He was too busy causing trouble.

The Fat one is “sensitive” The Beast is “tough”.  The Fat one HATES fruit.  The Beast is happy with it.  The list goes on.

So what’s the point of this post?  As always, not much.  I’m just reminiscing on how my babies have grown up so quickly, but also how different they are.  I listen to their voices, one high pitched and the other deep and husky, I look at how they stand and walk differently, how they socialise, and how they react to others.


I’m still in denial that I’ve created little people, and I’m excited to see them grow up and see what they become.  But I’m also a bit sad.  Darn you pregnant people.  Especially as you’re having girls. *sob*.

19 Responses to When they are so very different.

  1. Pingback: When they get hurt. | The Perfect Bad Mummy

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