Everyone tells you that motherhood is hard, and it is, very much so. I was definitely one of the naive mothers-to-be. I wanted to hand make all of my baby’s food once she started weaning, I wanted to take her outside every day and try a new activity. I wanted to do sensory play times and just generally be a full of energy mother. When I had all of those things in mind however, I was getting a lot more sleep. Sometimes 12 hours of sleep. Now I haven’t had a lie in in over a year! I find myself tired so often, it’s hard to be the perfect “Insta Mama” (ew, ew, ew). I admire mothers that do cook every meal for their baby fresh daily, and those that designate every day to a new and exciting activity, I just don’t have the energy, so sometimes my daughter finds herself watching Cartoons and eating food straight from a pouch. Heinz’s best. I never wanted to admit it, but being a mother is often all I feel I am. That’s hard, it’s really hard. I had a full identity before, now I don’t see
I find myself attempting to write again. I want to write always, but motivation is hard to find, especially lately. I could be blasé and say “Well, the toddler takes up most of my time....”, but she’s a Saint really. There’s always time. I’m just constantly preoccupied now, with images of pain and sorrow. My mother seems to always be on my mind, I miss her terribly. Her passing reminds me of the fragility of life. Every day, I wish I could have one more conversation with her and I tell myself that there wouldn’t have been that much more comfort in having a chance to say goodbye, though it would have been better. I hope she knew (or knows even) that I love her dearly, even if I took the words for granted and didn’t say it enough. Five months on and I struggle to feel immense joy without feeling pangs of grief. Good things happen and in the moment I feel them as I should but it’s soon followed by the sadness of not being able to share it with her. It was my daughter’s first birthday