No Rainclouds Please…. My (Fifth) Mothering Sunday…
I never imagined my life would be as it is; never dreamed I would be a wife, or ever a mother. Until I was 25, my life just didn’t seem to be heading that way. In my daydreams I just longed to be a successful woman; I’d abandoned the idea of any future relationships months earlier after a very abusive engagement thankfully came to an end…yet despite that, in my sleep I repeatedly dreamt of being in labour with a baby I knew I wasn’t carrying, and woke up empty, feeling a loss that wasn’t real.
Yet, 13 years later and I’m in the luckiest position I could imagine. I’m a wife to an amazing man, a Momma of two beautiful boys…and I’m a pregnant Momma on top of that, about to give birth in around three months’ time to another little bundle of blue. I couldn’t ask for more.
This was my fifth Mother’s Day. My first came just a month after giving birth for the first time and I was just as lit up inside about it as I was this Sunday morning. There is no experience comparable to looking at little faces which adore you just for being who you are. No make up, hair a mess, clothes covered in whatever you’ve been playing together that day…they just love you. The “you” that people are supposed to love. They see that. And feeling that? It’s something we all need.
However, after waking up (again) as the sun rose with Baby Dragon and being encouraged to watch Sesame Street whilst I could still hear Dadda snoring, by 8.30am I wasn’t feeling the love. I was cranky, over tired, and full of self pity. Dadda woke up, came downstairs and sent me off for a shower.
Whilst I moped in the shower, downstairs, Mother’s Day Masterchef was taking place. If you saw us on Instagram, when I emerged from the kitchen I was presented with three pancake dishes and had to guess which dish belonged to my three chefs. It was so, so sweet; they were so proud of their berry pancake creations.
After being presented with such a beautiful breakfast, my rainclouds lifted, and my my heart melted as this year became the most special ever…
This year,Dadda didn’t write all of the card. Jensen wrote his own name…and mine. He can write Lyoto, too… but he let Dadda do that today. Seeing my firstborn, my own precious little boy grow from a helpless little bundle to an independent preschooler, living life to the fullest and already striving to achieve his potential reminds me how blessed I am. And pregnancy hormones or not, seeing his little name, written so carefully in my card, just for me….this bought on buckets of happy tears.
Every colour was accounted for.
He knows how much his Momma loves flowers.
Some days I feel low, other days even lower. But on days like this, with tiny daisy cupcakes chosen especially for me, and beheaded buttercups placed proudly in my hand by tiny, muddy fingers, I realise. I really am loved by those people who matter in my heart. And nothing else should matter. Nothing in the world compares to a love like that.
