As I rushed about this morning trying to get my oldest to put on her f’ing socks for the 12th time and get out the door to pre-school I realised…
Today was the last day I would get to enjoy with just me and my little man.
Next week, I will tearfully finish my maternity leave, and return to work. More than likely stomping and huffing, or just shitting my pants. And my little man, who has spent every day of the past 16 months with his mummy, will be off to nursery to be cuddled up by another woman. (Cheating git!)
The thought terrified me.
I needed to make the most of our last day together.
I feel like my maternity has passed me as quick as Paris Hilton’s music career. And I can hardly remember any of it. I don’t know if it was the stress of my post natal depression or just my medication has numbed my memory, but all I can really remember is feelings. Mostly fear.
I feared everything when my littlest was born. I was afraid of this tiny crying machine that placed its life in my hands, I feared for my family, I feared what I might do or what I would turn into. I feared for my life.
All I can remember is this fear.
That is until the last few months where love has taken over. I feel love for my little family, for my beautiful little boy, and I can feel the love he has for me. *Beatles classic, all you need is love, blasts in my head*
However I’m not ready to share that yet, definitely not with a nursery teacher who will help him and see all of his first’s for the next few years, while pretending she hasn’t just to spare my feelings.
But I’m going to have to because life is hard, and revolves around the almighty pound, and in order to survive I have to make a few of them.
So I left my pity party, pulled up my big girl pants, and decided that today I was going to make as many memories as possible. That meant putting down my phone, quit Facebook stalking, turning off the TV, and giving all my attention to my little man.
Without all the technology in the way, I found that parenting today wasn’t that difficult. I give my baby my undivided attention and he thrived off it. We enjoyed playing together, or more he enjoyed chewing my face, farting on my knee, and using my hair as a lever to stand. I enjoyed watching his little smiley face, and even smelling his little sweaty feet as they booted me in the face when he tried to crawl (or tummy shuffle) away.
It’s odd but as a mum you start to love the little smells of your child. My sister in law look disgusted one day when I told her I didn’t mind my daughters farts. I used to be disgusted at my sister when she whiffed in the fumes of her little baby boys feet, but I’m stuck in the feet sniffing club now too.
The rest of the day we spent enjoying the great outdoors. Walking has been great therapy for me in my recovery, especially taking in the views that surround me in the Wirral where I live. I can talk myself through all my thoughts, working out what is intrusive and what is real. And with these little blue eyes looking up at me my worries tend to melt away.
I realised today how much I live my life just getting from one point of the day to the next. Doing the same thing over and over again and not taking anything in. My maternity has been exactly that. Living each day like groundhog day. So, today, to try to remember it all, I kept my little man close to me, taking in all of his little smells and actions, cuddling him so much he was wriggling free and rocking him to sleep and keeping him on me so I could remember how he breathed, and how peaceful he lay.
People talk about how mothers who work are doing an injustice to their children, but in a way I think we do an injustice to ourselves. Now I’m recovering from PND I can appreciate all of the little things my children do. That doesn’t mean I enjoy every little bit of parenting, most days I struggle, but I just appreciate having them in my life so much. I’m hurting because going back to work means I miss out on them and how they make me feel.
Although my illness tried to make me think my children where sent like mini terminators from the future to destroy me, I now know they were sent to be my saviors. To show me how ill I was and help me to recover. To become a better mum. A better me.
And I’m going to miss being with them so much.
It’s a pity its taken me this long to realise that.