To be a mother

It's such a strange and funny thing, being the mother of small children.

It's finding half eaten apples, sitting by the toilet, and picking them up going "Why?"

It's loving, more intensely than you could have imagined. It's also being more frustrated than you though possible.

It's seeing the man you love, in a whole new light as he becomes a Dad, and it's loving him in a whole new way. (It's also getting angry at him in a whole new way sometimes, too).

It's wondering, what on earth you did with your time before you had children. It's wondering what on earth you do with your time now, and wondering why is it you can be so busy and achieve so little.

It's being tired, more tired than you ever imagined.

It's "Dear God will everyone just stop touching me!!!"

It's desperation, when they just. won't. sleep. 

It's joy and love and fear like you've never known before.

It's brilliant days of sunshine, and cloudy days of oppressive darkness.

It's washing and folding the same clothes, over and over and over again.

It's power and responsibility that can be terrifying.

It's wanting to talk to somebody, anybody, about something other than Peppa Pig.

It's trying to reason with a person who doesn't understand logic. 

It's sticky hand prints everywhere, spilled milk on the floor, and food on the ceiling. It's kind of disgusting really.

It's picking your battles.

It's saying things that sound so wrong, like "Don't lick the dog!!" Or "Oh, go ahead and eat the grass if you want to then." Or my personal favorite,  "Here, I want to wipe your bottom."

It's wanting to squish tiny faces, sometimes because you are so amazingly angry, and sometimes because you love them so much you fear you almost can't contain it.

It's worth it.



Flogging this one with Grace today.