Being a mum is a real paradox.
One minute you’re dreaming of the day your baby will sit still at the table without lobbing everything at the wall. When they won’t scribble over every surface (apart from the actual pad?!). A time when you’ll be able to go to Sainsburys without abandoning your trolley and leaving with the only thing you came in with – the wild raccoon you gave birth to.
And the next you’re staring at your toddler’s tiny, beautiful face, mesmerised; looking at their weeny hands and longing for time to stand still. You find yourself hoping for Groundhog Day and that they’ll stay this small and squashy forever.
It’s so conflicting. Yesterday all I could think about was how much I wanted to go for dinner. To the cinema. To London. To Bali. And today I can’t stand the thought of Bella going to nursery next week as I’ll miss her too much.
Balance in this absurd roller coaster of mumming doesn’t exist.
I’ve always been emotional. My eyes fill up at the slightest mention of an elderly person/ child / animal. Anything even mildly touching, assume I’m weeping. But this mumming business has unlocked a whole new level of emotions in me. Since Bella, even my ability to consume my all-time favourite shows (thrillers, horrors, murders – general girl- content) has changed. Give me a lighthearted comedy over a crisis any day. Because being a mama both weakens and strengthens the soul. I never knew a love like this existed. It’s bigger than the universe.
The other day, Bella and I had to leave a restaurant without finishing our meals. We emergency exited Ask in Winchester after a terrible decision of mine to take her there after an unacceptably short car nap. And Instead of enjoying a catch up, we ditched our very dear NCT besties and made a dash for the door. Between repeatedly attempting to yeet herself onto the next table from her high chair and snatching (then waving) any piece of cutlery in her wake, it was all too much for me. I cried. We vacated. (Granted, this was all my fault. I should have known better than to take her. She was exhausted. I was exhausted. I thought garlic bread would fix us. I was wrong).
And yet this weekend, my little creature couldn’t have been more angelic. No one is tired! No one is sick! It’s been a beautiful blur of hand holding, face to face pressing, dancing, half intelligible chatting and playing. She’s been the perfect example of angelic wonder and I’m utterly besotted with her.
Let’s be honest, I always am.
And all I know is, paradox or not, drawing over everything she can find, or not, being her mama is my very, very favourite thing to do.
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