The click of the front door and unexpected footsteps in the entrance hall. The ecstatic screams of your daughters as they barrel across the house to fling themselves into your arms, tripping over each other and their own feet. The sound of your laughter mingling with theirs as they knock you to the ground, pitch-perfect. You’ve skipped your workout to come home early to be with us. Is this what bliss feels like?
There are giggles, splashing and “shushing” sounds coming from upstairs. You’ve let them put bubbles in the jacuzzi bath again and white froth has spilled over the bathroom floor like the magic porridge...
Dear fellow thirtysomething mum,
I see you in the supermarket, I see you at the playground. I see you at the school drop-off, I see you on the train and in the kid-friendly restaurants. Sometimes you see me too, and we exchange a little smile, an eye-roll, an “I get it” moment. More often you don’t see me – you are chasing your toddler down the aisles, watching your pre-schooler like a hawk as she climbs higher than you’d like, admonishing your kid for pinching her brother, reaching for a wet wipe, mopping up a spilled drink.
A few days ago I was...
My fellow mamas of littles… When you close your eyes at night and reflect back on the day that’s just been, how often do you think to yourselves, “Yes. That went well.” Is it often? Is it every now and then? Or almost never?
A few nights ago I closed my eyes and did my usual mental audit of the day and, to my surprise, I could think of nothing that had not gone to plan. We had got up on time in the morning, everybody had eaten their breakfast (without threats or bribery), we’d had a smooth school run with...
When I started this blog a few months ago I had to wade through all the usual hang-ups that aspiring writers are afflicted with – the nagging fear that I don’t actually have anything interesting to say; that almost four years of being a stay-at-home mum had turned my brain to mush; that writing about my life and experiences as though they were noteworthy or interesting would make me look like a total megalomaniac; that putting myself out there would be an embarrassing failure… But I wanted to start writing again so with a bit of effort (and a stern...
My first baby was born late at night after a horrific, 21-hour, drug-free (not my idea) labour. When she finally arrived screaming purposefully at the world and I held her for the first time, I wept as much from indescribable relief as from overwhelming love. It felt like we had already walked a long and difficult road together and we were only just beginning. After I was cleared from recovery and we took her back to the ward, her daddy kissed us both good night and we were suddenly alone – a moment I don’t think any mum ever forgets. We looked...
When I was a teenager, The Oprah Show was on TV every day at 6pm. For my mum and I, it was our special time. Homework done and dance classes finished, we would always, always watch together – on the couch with a cup of tea or at the kitchen table while dinner bubbled away on the stove. It was more than just a TV show – it was our daily meditation, the full stop at the end of our day, one of the many things we shared in quiet companionship.
...A welcome beep of my iPhone, a What’s App message from half way around the world. A girlfriend sending a joke, telling me about her day, asking me about mine. A ream of (desperately solicited at 3am) advice on what to do about my 8 month old (who has mysteriously stopped sleeping through the night), an inspirational news story from the Rio Olympics, a photo, a microwave recipe for chocolate cake, five little words that make everything better: “It’s going to be fine.”
Thank goodness for The Girls.
...To the husbands, to their dads,
This is what we forget to tell you…
I hear you with our child in the other room, the music of your laughter mixed with hers the most beautiful sound I know. The vibrating baritone of your voice in perfect sync with the joyful bubble of hers – a domestic symphony, the soundtrack to our family’s happiness.
You carry the weight of our hopes and dreams, but you always leave it at the front door. Your capable arms hold our world together, and your cheeky grin lights it up. The Boy who won my heart piece by...