Tag Archives: motherhood

Well, feck.

Evening, fellow readers. Hope you’re all well and tucked up nice and cosy by the fire. It is Sunday night, the night before the day my people call Monday, and I … I am not happy about that.

Tomorrow morning, you see, I have to get up and go to work. Not so bad in of itself, but what is horrible is that I have to leave my son without me. I am going to leave my son without me for the day, and go about my business like some Dickensian witch who doesn’t care and who ignores a breaking heart of a tiny mite. And I will do it again the day after, and the day after that, over and over again.

Tried the lotto, didn’t work. Tried wishing, didn’t work. Tried denial, discovered it is not just a river in Egypt, didn’t work. So I have to do this. I just do not know how. I’ve had two weeks of being woken by his hands on my face, delighted to find me still under the same roof as him, and his company is a luxury always.

See, I’ll be fine. I’m the adult. He is the little person here, the one that doesn’t understand where I am or why I am not there, and when I will be back. The moment of that realisation is a knife within me, over and over. How on earth can I be doing this to him? Can you, reading this, explain it to me? How can I be doing this to him?

Somewhere inside of me is a gallery of paintings, made up of the important moments of my heart. And this moment is in there, for all to see, with all the condemnation I can muster. I am a wretch, and nothing I can do seems able to change it.

Paul Kerr The Family

‘The Family’ ┬áby Paul Kerr.

Changes, People.

I have five minutes to type this, with no editing or correction possible, so if you see any errors be sure to let me know. Love that.

 

So this weekend we managed to get the little man sleeping in a bed. Not a crib or cot or anything, but a bed, for a big boy. I don’t feel sad about seeing his baby years fall away from him, mainly because he is becoming such a great little guy to be around. But there is, none the less, a sense of change, which, like all well rounded fully realised adults, I fight against with all I have.

See, you might say to me that yes, this change or that change is good and right and proper, but until I step off the cliff and land in the water, I’m going to hedge and edge and worry and doubt and fret and wonder and argue and … just take the jump!

Seeing him snuggle under his Minions duvet, so happy and cosy, was a treat, it was delightful. I have the best kid in the world, so my life is a lot easier than others. And he seemed to take to it with ease, other than difficulties on his parents’ part in deciding the bedtime routine. But he is not a baby, not a toddler really, but a young boy. He scrambles up the stairs ahead of me with full confidence, and the same goes for everything else.

Yeah. So, there’s that.