Versions of motherhood

Some days I’m the Hot Mess Mum.

I stay in my robe all day, feed them spaghetti on toast for dinner, and don’t shower until they’re in bed.

If I leave the house, I’m running late. I’m doing my hair in the car. I’m wiping the sauce stain off my pants with a baby wipe. And I’m realising my phone has almost no battery left.

When I return home, I’ve left one of my children’s shoes behind. I forget to message my friends back, or book the appointment. And for the life of me, I can’t find my phone charger.

I look forward to bedtime.

I leave the mounting mess for another day.

And tell myself tomorrow will be different.

Other days I’m the Organised Mum.

I pack the lunches the night before. I book the appointments for next week. And I pay the bills that have been sitting on the bench rather than leaving them for another day.

I wash, fold and hang out the washing all in one day. Have vacuumed by lunch. Get the meat out for dinner. And even have time to finish some work emails during nap time.

I take spare baby clothes for outings, and clean the car out when we get home.

I shower, get to bed within a reasonable time and then FaceTime a friend. I may even manage half an episode of something I’ve been wanting to watch for weeks, before falling asleep because I’m so tired from being organised.

Other days I am the Fun Mum.

I get my boots in the mud with them, rather than worrying about the mess I’ll need to clean up afterwards. I sing and dance with them while I’m preparing breakfast. We go to the park and I don’t worry for the time.

I let them paint my toes, and play hide and seek for the tenth time.

I let them play outside past their bedtime and put pink bubbles in the bath.

I lose track of time, and their schedule, but it doesn’t bother me. Not on these days.

Because they are happy and so am I.

Then some days I can be the Overwhelmed Mum.

I have so much to do, but spend far too much time thinking about how big it all is, and then almost none of it gets started.

I put them in front of the screen to get my work done. And then let them keep watching it after I’ve finished, because I need to hear myself think. Then I overthink and get more overwhelmed.

I swallow my tears as I pick up the spilt milk that was the fault of my tired, or wash the dishes that I didn’t use at dinner time.

I put the children to bed early, because I need it.

I need the time to finish everything I overthought.

Or just to catch up with myself and recharge for a new day tomorrow.

There are so many versions of my motherhood.

Some days I’m the patient Mum, or the grumpy mum.

The energetic Mum, or the tired Mum.

The lost Mum, or the grounded Mum.

The excited Mum, or the hurting Mum.

Some days I’m a big mix of all.

But every day, I show up regardless.

I love them with all I have.

I am constantly trying to do my best.

And that’s where the love is.

Not in the perfect or consistent.

But in the trying.

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