It’s what Mum’s do …

When I started this Blog; pregnant, single, and slightly overwhelmed – I didn’t know where it would lead, or what form it would take. Over the past 3 years I’ve sometimes sought solace in WordPress, detailing the ups and downs and inbetweens. Many a night I used to snuggle up with a cup of tea/glass of wine and my laptop after Freddie had gone to sleep, and write. I think/hope it makes a good record for Freddie when he’s older – the little achievements, the anecdotes, as well as the raw heartbreak of losing his beloved Grandad. Snippets of our world.

I haven’t Blogged for a while; life has been quite turbulent recently and there is much of that I don’t want to share here  – but I DO want to share the joys and occasional frustrations of an ever growing little boy. Sometimes I look at Freddie and am shocked at how big he is, how long his legs have become, and how I grew him; or to put it more bluntly; gave birth to him.Wow. I’ll never quite get over the wonders of childbirth [neither will my pelvic floor….]

This cheeky little chap now regularly tells me “be careful mummy don’t fall down” on the stairs, or “don’t fall in the duck pond mummy, you don’t have your armbands on.” He understands so much, and is articulating more every day. Last week when I dropped him at nursery he said “mummy go to work and earn some money then pick me up.” He doesn’t know that I’m actually signed off work for a couple of weeks, but that’s not the point.

No one warns you of the huge guilt associated with motherhood. There have been many reasons to cry this year, and by far the hardest thing I’ve ever done is try to be a good mother through the tears. You are their safe place, their comfort, their security – the person who kisses things better and makes it okay again. I don’t want Freddie to look back on his early childhood and remember a mummy who was sad; yet I also want him to know that emotions are real and life [and death] happens. Its okay to be sad sometimes. I used the phrase “Grandad died” from the very beginning, and Freddie still talks about Grandad, and will now ask, where is Grandad, or tell me that he misses him. We now have  a beautiful plot in the local crematorium, and Freddie likes to water Grandad’s plants …

As a mother you constantly doubt yourself; I’ve had a particularly bad week of worrying that I’m not quite doing it well enough. Then I look at this bruiser of a toddler dashing around with his toy aeroplane, grubby faced and smiling; and my heart bursts with both love and pride. We are doing okay, Fred and I. This little boy who shot into the birthing pool, continues to blow me away. “Don’t be sad mummy” he said to me on Sunday, “come and play with my aeroplane.”

And you swallow hard, clamp down on your lip, and swirl around the lounge making aeroplane noises … because its what Mum’s do … we’ve got this.