12/52 | A mother's love

Some times we just don't make it to the night routine.

His pride in typing a sentence, fills me with a an achy pride i never knew possible.

A mother’s job is to love her child. There is no complexity to this, it is simple, yet it is a task fraught with endless fear of failure. We dive deep with raw and endearing pursuit to achieve, to conquer and to rise above and beyond our own on measures. Yet we burst through the surface of that love in constant throws of guilt. Barely do we break that surface, barely do we stop and breathe deeply, our lungs filling, relishing in the relief that possibly, just maybe today we got it right!

I sit here tonight in judgement of myself, of the choices I make which as a mother I feel lead me to an endless torment of criticism and judgement on my own part. This is wrong. I am a mother and my job, in this lifetime is to love them, is to love them with the deepest parts of myself and to tire in my efforts to ensure that this love is known, and felt by them. Everything else will follow in due course. So when the day has taken hold of whom you are and left you raw and broken, turn to your little babe and ask.

‘Did I love them today?, Did I love them deeply and wholly, with such fervorous resolve and reverence for the little person they are?’. Because that is your job. To love them so as they know that who they are, this little person they are becoming, is not judged. Rather it is welcomed, is celebrated. In your arms above all else they will be sheltered, they will be loved, they will find home. If you can do this for your child, if you can be this for your child, then I say you are being the best mother you can be. You have broken the surface, so take a breath, inhale deeply and delight in it’s soulful replenishment. For today you were the best mum you could be.

Linking in with Jodie for the 52 Project and the girls from the wholeheartedjournal - A celebration of motherhood.

11/52 | The dawn

When he wakes early on those few occasions, he does not wake well.

My little big man, rising for mumma, savoring his time with her, every moment he can get.

It starts with a sound, ever familiar it grows, reminding me it's time to rise. Each morning passing, each morning I discover my momentum grows steady, my feet hit the floor. It is dark. I stretch, I reach and I fumble as I climb from my bed and softly make my way though the dark, the hard floors beneath me eager to announce to the world my arrival to the day. I tip toe with gentle breaths, struggling to slide their bedroom door to a close. Most mornings I fail. His ears are cued for my waking. His sleep washed eyes, peep around the door and I know, it is over, the game was lost this morning. He is awake, my small boy, my big boy. He has grown so very much these last weeks. I see the young many beginning to shape. I see parts of him, adjust in a way I had not anticipated and quite frankly not given him credit for. I reach out my mumma arms, his safe place. He hold me and I hold him back and suddenly I find myself selfishly satiated that he is awake now, in this early morn, when the sun has not yet risen I am happy, am whole. I sweep him up and kiss his cheek, carry him to the lounge where our ‘routine’ begins with him snuggly and warm, remote in hand. I sing out to him at random ‘I love you’, and his reply never fails. I am happy. I am whole. The morning quickly buzzes to action, in the darkness of the day, still new from it’s birth. I ready myself for another day at work, torn with guilt and proud of the role model and provider I have fought to become. As the morning endures and the world awakens, the shaded grey sky announcing dawn, I make my way to their bedroom, I kiss my little babe in that part of his neck, you know the part. The part all mummas devour with relish. He hugs his cheek to mine and for a bliss-ed moment I am happy, I am whole. I leave him be, my little sleeper. He will rise late, this much I know. I make my way for one last hug with my other little man. His heavy eyes fight his desire to see me off. I tell him I love him, I tell him I wish mummy could stay too…

I close the door behind me, my little world separated by a slither of timber. And for a moment I am sad, I am lost.

Joining in with Jodie and The 52 Project

10/52 | A small reprieve

For the amount of food he devours, i don't know where is puts it!

The best way to eat cake, is simply to just 'get into it'!!!

Our lives are starting to settle, we are finding our own gentle rhythm. No longer  does the humming of our life drown us out and keep us wired. Instead we are finding our feet neatly placed on the ground and time within the reach of outstretched hands. It is sparse but it is there. I spent yesterday afternoon sitting at the dining table, tea in hand, relishing the conversation of my boys. We discussed their day and their thoughts over cake. A treat in our house. They devoured their cake, just as i devoured my time spent with them, listening and laughing together. A rarity of moments that has found its way back into becoming a staple in our lives.

Following with Jodie in the 52 Project