I want to be present.
But some days I’m barely present with myself.
I want to be the mum who revels in outings, who says things like, “I took them to so and so and we had so much fun”. And I wonder when the “fun”, of outings start, because I’m still forgetting enough snacks and soothing tantrums and feeling exhausted by it all.
I don’t want to say things to my husband like, “take me with you”, as he leaves for work when the kids are already at each other’s throats. Because this is what I chose and I love it, I do, but motherhood is contradictory like that.
I want to be centred, composed, know how to handle situations. But I still second guess if I have said the right thing, I don’t care what people think of me, but at times I do.
I want these lessons of motherhood to settle in, be unfiltered by the fake, but I catch myself wondering if we should be doing more, if I should be more, I forget that I’m enough, it’s me, I allow myself to forget when nothing is in order.
I cringe sometimes when I hear the word “Mummy”, when my energy is drained, when I’m trying to collect a thought or just finish one thing uninterrupted. I know they are the most important work I will ever do, so why must I clean out this fridge right now?
I want to wipe away the whinging with the crumbs as I lay my head down, always too late at night, before one of them toddles in.
Before I smell their perfect head nestle in to my neck, filling up the spaces in my heart once more.
They can break me down and build me up all at once.
Maybe I do find this harder than others.
Maybe the guilt just comes with it.
Maybe it’s not just me.