I have talked a bit before about how I have always wanted to be a Mum and how, because of this I have always made sure to surround myself with children.
But I always knew that having my own children would be different, harder in some ways maybe but better is so many. And I was right.
For me it’s the little things; when I am doing something and I realise that I am the Mum.
Putting on Wills shoes. There is something about having your child on your lap and labouring to get his socks and shoes on before he darts away to something more interesting that really melts my heart.
Hanging out his cute clothes. Not so much doing four loads of laundry a day, you understand, I’m not crazy. But hanging out the tiny socks and trousers and vests. Even now that they aren’t teeny tiny baby clothes, I still find them massively cute.
Having crap in all of my bags (nappies, dummies, bits of food, odd socks). I love finding something random but child related (as long as it’s not sticky), especially if I am not with Will. It’s a lovely reminder that I am a Mum. His Mum.
My house being a tip. Sure, it drives me crazy and exhausts me but there is something that I love about tripping over toys, finding toys in my bed, under my duvet, that every room in the house has a little reminder that a little person lives here. That we are a family.
Recently this happened
And as much as I was annoyed (at myself for leaving Will and pens unattended) and as much as attempting, and failing, to clean it off was frustrating, part of me felt a warm glow inside. Because it’s funny. Because it was going to happen one day. Because it felt like a parental rite of passage. And because it was a reminder that I am a Mum. Not a very attentive one, clearly, but a Mum none the less.
And I love being a Mum.