There is a lot of carry-on in the mothering circles about the tremendous sacrifice we mothers make. Of how unnoticed our daily deeds of heroism are. Of our never ending, selflessness.
Not to mention our ability to wash nineteen loads of nappies while breastfeeding with one arm and facebooking with the other.
But let’s face it mothers. Apart from Sarah Palin’s daughter, most of us asked to be knocked up. We sat down with our life partners, structured a twelve-month savings plan, went on our last adult trip to the French Riviera, and upgraded from a one-bedroom unit in Milson’s Point to a do-upper in the inner west.
(Or in my case, you are your husband just decided to give it a go, paid no mind to finances, went on a road trip to Armidale in country New South Wales and moved into a smaller place than the one we were living in before).
But no matter. Here I am, mothering away. And honestly. I absolutely love it. It’s totally fantastic.
· I used to have to justify why I left the house in day old gym gear, a baseball cap pulled low over my un-brushed hair. Now with Miss Q in my arms, no explanation is ever required.
· If all I’ve managed by 2pm is three cups of half drunk coffee and seventy-five made up sing-songs, it is an excellent day indeed.
· I no longer look like I’m talking to myself. Miss Q is always there, even if she’s not remotely interested in what I’m saying.
· Raisin toast. Banana bread. Fruit loaf. Scones. Muffins. And any other form of carbohydrate that I can eat with one hand while playing with Miss Q with the other.
· Singing. I love it. I love doing it. I love narrating our life to song. And apparently it’s very good for Miss Q’s intellectual growth. Excellent, excellent news.
· Scarves. I love me a good scarf. And they are the perfect cover-up when breastfeeding in public. I probably have one for every day of the month. Which is a shame, because that many are not going to fit into our small apartment.
· Fatigue. I’m currently working on a children’s tv show, and the more delirious I become, the closer my mind gets to that of a child. I really feel like I’m working on their level.
· Further to that, bags under my eyes. The shadows must bring out the blue. I’ve never had so many compliments.
· Talking to strangers. I love the weirdos. And they love babies. So I’m getting to meet them all.
See mums, this mothering gig ain’t so bad.
Ohhhhhh a total oddball just walked into the café where I’m drinking a massive cappuccino and wolfing down a raspberry muffin.
I hope he comes and talks to us…