Motherhood is getting wet in the rain because your hood keeps blowing off. You haven’t got an umbrella and you haven’t got free hands because you’re ensuring your baby is shielded instead.
Motherhood is refusing to give them something different for dinner because they’re refusing to eat – you don’t want them to be fussy – then giving in with a slice of toast because you don’t want them going to bed hungry.
Motherhood is slipping the vegetables in so expertly that a microscope couldn’t detect them. Your toddler does.
Motherhood is being told to go back in the kitchen because they want to play alone, then wondering why you quit your job for this.
Motherhood is guilt. Paranoia. Uncertainty.
Motherhood is sitting at home wondering if your partner will come back tonight.
Motherhood is permanent back pain and not wanting to go to the doctors to be shunned away with antidepressants.
Motherhood is the excitement for nap time, then hating yourself when it comes.
Motherhood is a desperate struggle to embrace your new, strong body, but failing everytime.
Motherhood is being told what to do, how to do it, why they’re crying, why you shouldn’t wean them, why you need fake hormones to prevent further accidents, how much you should weigh, how little salt and sugar to use and how much organic crap you should be using instead, how much they should weigh, quit smoking, never drink alcopops, never go out, don’t co-sleep, co-sleep, you shouldn’t feel guilty, go back to work, why don’t you work from home, this is the second time I’ve had to babysit this week, you need time for yourself, isn’t he a good dad? Doesn’t he do so well?
Motherhood is crying every other day, or once a week, or seven times this morning.
Motherhood is dreading bed time.
Motherhood is breastfeeding classes, lunch dates, coffee mornings and other socialising you wish you hadn’t agreed to.
Motherhood is needing your own mother.
Motherhood is depression, anxiety and the ensuing feeling your kids will be taken from you if you think anymore of those bad thoughts, nevermind telling anyone about them.
Motherhood is begging your partner for compliments and never believing them when they’re forced out.
Motherhood is watching the same TV show on loop for four hours until you’re jerked into life because your TV is about to go into standby and God forbid…
Motherhood is sitting on the sofa, your little one suddenly grabbing your hand to hold…
… sometimes he’ll crawl up to you and kiss your face. Other times it’s a strong hug around your leg. Once in a while, he’ll say your food is “lishous” and fill his mouth to capacity. At 5am he’ll crawl into your bed; you think you’ll be exhausted and angry but your heart explodes when he snuggles up to you and falls asleep instantly. You sneak your head around the kitchen door to watch him playing, so content, filled with unexplainable pride. You push those demons away, day in, day out.
Some days you shout so loud and give him such a fright you swear you don’t deserve him.
Motherhood is the insert cliche hardest job in the world. Motherhood sometimes feels impossible, whether you’re 18 or 48.
Motherhood is a personality transplant, a full body transplant, a mind alteration: all in one.
Motherhood is not all sweet smelling baby heads and clapping their first steps. But my goodness, what warriors we are.