Settling in, moving on.
Here I am with a nice hot coffee, in a comfy chair in an average coffee shop. Happy days… But my buggy is missing. Well, more to the point, the baby isn’t with me.
I say baby, but she’s nearly one. Does that still count? And all of a sudden, she’s at her first settling in session at nursery down the road, and it’s hit me that everything is about to change.
I’m going back to work, Little P is going to nursery, M is entering his final term of pre-school before he’s in ‘big school’, and I’ll never have a maternity leave again… (well, never say never I suppose… but seriously, NEVER again).
It’s a different feeling to the first time. I clearly remember the secret car park cries I had when M would sob on drop off. It felt so wrong to leave that precious little person – who you hadn’t let out of your sight for the last 10 months – with total strangers, however lovely they seemed.
But this time, leaving Little P has made me wobble in a more ‘isn’t life precious’ and ‘aren’t I lucky’ and ‘I don’t want things to change’ kind of way. My heart does feel heavy if I think too much about her big brown eyes searching the nursery room for someone she knows though.
I suppose I’m feeling philosophical. I tend to get this way at big life moments, when I have a bit of quiet time and let myself get a bit thinky. It makes me feel a bit small and overwhelmed with the world and I start to wonder what part I’m playing in this one-off performance called life. Do you know what I mean?
It’s been a crazy year of adrenaline highs and tearful lows. The moment the surgeon held up our little person above that strange C-section barrier/sheet thingy, all covered in gunk and announced we now had ‘one of each’. The days where she cried non stop for hours and hours and I would swallow down the lump in my throat as her big brother would whimper that he couldn’t hear his music / watch his programme / play his game because she was too loud, oh and WHAT’S FOR TEA? The brilliant days of no plans where we could choose what we fancied doing that morning and had the freedom to go wherever, see friends or just stay at home and chill (errr, don’t ever do that actually, it’s never as fun as it sounds). The feeling of pride setting up and writing this blog amongst the chaos of two small people and a mountain of house jobs. The feeling of guilt when I realised I hadn’t been to a single class or activity for Little P and she’d just been lugged around after big bro for 8 months. The constant exhaustion of a non-napping baby who is also a 5am fan, and a brilliantly curious and chatty three year old who needs Mummy to LOOK LOOK LOOK every minute of the day. The lovely sense of community and friendship I get from those snatched conversations at the school gate. Those nights where some Mums get together to let off steam and drink a lot too much wine. The mornings after…
This motherhood lark is a rollercoaster, isn’t it?
I guess not everything will change though. I’m pretty sure I’ll still be getting up at 5am.