Im a mumma. For the longest time (going on 8 years now) i have struggled to understand what that meant for me. Im sure most women do.
Mothering is a many wonderful clichés, gifted to you in a most fashionable guise. Prettied up with all the trimmings - instagram worthy of course. But mothering, real honest to goodness mothering is back breaking stuff. Its not pretty, but it is real, and therin lies the beauty.
Mothering to me is a many splendid and aching things. Its wet towels on tiled floors (again), its giggles from the bath tub. Its schoolbags chucked down at the entry, its conquering his home reader. Its their punch ups over whos turns first, its my eldest teaching my 6year old how to play footy. Its waking up for midnight feeds - its watching them squeal in delight when she crawled for the first time.
I guess im learning, that mothering is an ocean of existence. I am humbled by its magnificent greatness as it pours out from me, surrounding me. I'm realising that this mothering thing, there are no answers - only being. Only existing within its folds. Feeling the waves crash and tumble around me.
What is most important though, and i am only now beginning to realise this. Is we are already lost within its embrace. It takes hold and all is lost to it. Mothering is as much a state of being as it is in the things we do. We are forever changed, forever richer for having been granted the privilege that it is to be a mum. We just dont always realise it.
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