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Some Thoughts On Being A Mother

This morning I was trying to dress my toddler so that we could both be ready to go outside, arrive at the bus stop and go into town. I planned on treating her and I did – we chose some neon pink light-up trainers together, which she didn’t want to take off when we got home.

But as I was trying to dress her, as she was protesting and crying and screaming, I gently asked her what it was that she didn’t want, and she hit me hard on my left eye.

My eye watered a little, though that could have been a little tear from the shock and sadness at my child hitting me so hard.

And yeah, I was pissed off. I was sad. I thought about everything that I do for her, how hard I can find it sometimes, and how she still decided that she wanted to hit me.

It’s difficult. Sometimes I have to remind myself that she is just a small child. Other times, I can’t believe that I am actually a mother – I am somebody’s mother.

There is so much to a mother-child relationship. I’m her comforter, her teacher, her entertainer, her carer. To me, she is everything. But it’s not all good. It can be incredibly frustrating, exhausting and draining.

It’s just like any other relationship I suppose. It’s hard work. It’s a lot of joy. And it’s different for everybody. 

I eagerly await my time off from parenting duties (whenever my daughter is asleep, mostly). When I get time off, like a proper full day away, I miss her. I miss having her around after just a few hours of not being with her.

I’m very tired, a lot of the time. I crave work, I crave rest. All things outside of parenthood look so wonderful and shiny to me now, like, wow! You get to go to an office and do work and talk to adults all day? But as I type that I think; yuck, you have to go to an office and do work and talk to adults all day.

I’m very lucky to have her in my life, but that doesn’t mean that it’s easy. It is a constant. A constant third-eye watching over her, a constant drain on my mental and physical energy, a constant ball of love running around and wrecking the house.

Being a mother is wonderful but sometimes it’s not. And that’s okay.

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