After multiple failed attempts, I’ve made my way back into this space. I was locked out for a period of time due to lost passwords and so on and so on. Exhale. Here I am. It has been almost ten years since I sat here and typed my first (completely embarrassing) post. I was delirious with lack of sleep and the newness of motherhood and milk and skin, desperately seeking connection and knowledge and understanding. I had always written as a means to find the answers, to figure out what I thought. That much hasn’t changed. But my life outside these content blocks (as they are known behind the scenes here) has. My life isn’t as cosy and homely as it used to be. I am back at work permanently (part-time) and have been for a few years now. The girls are bigger and different and growing and needing me in ways I am still completely unprepared for. I don’t have a baby at home anymore, and won’t again.
The next chapter is here, then! Ten years ago I used to look at mothers like me and call them Capital M Mothers. I’d watch them in the street and eagerly and unsurely think I had to wait until one day I’d wake up and realise I’d turn into one. I suppose that has happened. However the Capital M bit seems to have be waylaid somehow. Lost in the mail? I’m still a version of myself. Ground down and torn open. Hello. Turned upside down and wrenched at. Here I am.
I still find myself unprepared for the emotions, the thinking, the internal dialogue, the decisions, the deepest, purest love and the most tantalising suffering. Feeling my way in the dark, ever questioning, learning, making mistakes, trying again.
It feels like a nice time to be pausing to re-evaluate where we’re at. Life has certainly picked up the pace in the last few years and along with the girls being more active and our lives being more outward focussed with bigger-small children and both parents working, we have hit the point where the focus needs to be drawn inwards again. Towards balance, towards the anti-rush.
My girls despise busy-ness. I found a note one of them had written in her room a while ago. It was a worry she had written down, labelled: WORRY 1. The worry was that she would be busy all her life and miserable. Not in those exact words, but almost. I sank onto her bed as I read the words and realised that she could only be worried about this happening from seeing it in action around her, and recognising it was not something she wanted for herself.
Everything is pivoting from that point for me. When I had small babies in the house our life felt more cocooned than it does now. Now, we’re open for the taking, slathering our calendar with play dates and events and school and kinder commitments and all our energy is pushing outwards day after day. We’ve lost that sense of groundedness, and routine. Summer is something that can impact this as well; the long, hot days, the elongation of holidays, the sense of brightness and light keeping us moving, keeping us busy.
And so. School and kinder is back, and they’ve all started a new one. Life is big and it’s happening. All I can do now is this: cook, feed, faff a bit more, and care. Slowly and each day. So that is what I’m doing. As slowly and mindfully and purposefully as I can.