On Easter Sunday morning I was a complete disaster. The first term always gets me good, there’s new routines and timetables, sport begins, there’s Easter to plan for and thankfully in the lead up to the break, we had...
On Easter Sunday morning I was a complete disaster.
The first term always gets me good, there’s new routines and timetables, sport begins, there’s Easter to plan for and thankfully in the lead up to the break, we had been busy in the shop. We had had a big first term with Daisy growing up, fast. A boyfriend, endless social activities and the push and pull that comes from all that as we navigated grown up stuff as a parent and still not knowing if anything we are doing, is the right thing. Alexa can you tell me how to make a 16 year old listen to her Mum? We had a lot of background grown up family stuff happening which bought with it a lot of stress, and worry and frustration and did I say worry? Nothing like a new drama to loop into your 3am whale worry! There was the renovation of our home, which as it turns out, is actually an entirely new house which is fabulous of course, but Jesus the bleeding of money. Throw into ALLLLLL that a peri-menopausal whirlwind of hormones and a period every 2 weeks and a general simmering anger at the injustice of it all after EVERYTHING we go through as women and now THIS too?! I also think Rob has had covid again too, just to spice things up. I was tired from all of the above, plus we had had our annual village Easter market for the first time in 3 years which meant a lot of physical activity, manual labour and a shit tonne of baking to fundraise…it was the perfect (SHIT) storm!
As I said, disaster.
When Maggie woke up and I had to do the Easter hunt alone with her, I just could not stop crying. Teenagers were asleep, rightly so after a huge term, Rob recovering in bed, I rallied to try and do the hunt with her, but I just felt so bad for her, doing it alone, trying to muster enthusiasm for a piss weak world Easter Sunday morning that deserved so much more. I cried for her and all the fun mornings that the big girls had together, that she won’t have as they grow and move on. I cried for my tired uterus and hormones which gaslight me into being someone I don’t deserve to feel and be like, after everything! Et tu hormones? Fuck you. I cried just because I’m 45 and I want to be in bed too sleeping in (we all know that wouldn’t happen but still! I’d the like the option to not sleep in, you know?). Lucky for me, there was chocolate around so I could enjoy that. I rallied. Because what else can you do? I stopped crying, because, what good is that? Everyone tip toed around, and we eventually got on with the day. Because that’s just what needs to happen.
It’s been a slow burn of a realisation that things are shifting. I felt it at Christmas during our time at the farm when I was looking at all the girls swimming in the pool, and I knew for certain that these times are coming to an end. Everyone is growing up, we are moving into a new chapter and while I would love to hold onto that past as much as I could, it’s out of my control. I feel like I am preparing myself for a redundancy or a role change, and someone has taken me into a boardroom for a blindside and I’m not ready, I’m not ready, I’m not ready.
When are we ever ready?
I talked a little about it on Instagram a few weeks back and it resonated with so many of you going through the same things. Young children, getting older. Old uteruses, making us feel like shite. Uncomplicated and simple, adoring love from our small kids being clouded by hormones and being grown up and letting go. Holding on as tight as we can and seeing it slip through our hands and what can we do? But watch and hope it all works out.
Someone told me a quote about building boats and having them stay in the harbour. That what good is all the work we do with our kids if we don’t let them sail out into the world? There’s no greater joy I have witnessed than seeing all three girls grow and gain independence and flourish but boy it hurts when they are no longer looking back to see we are there. Maybe they just know? That safe port will always be there when they need it.
It’s been a slow-motion grieving that’s complicated and wonderful and so sad all mixed together. As confusing as my peri-menopausal symptoms feel to my head. It’s that! And that! AND THAT. And sadly, that.
This probably doesn’t make much sense, it’s clunky, and not as polished as it could be, but hey, that’s me right now. I’m 45. I have 3 girls that are growing up. So fast. I’m exhausted and bewildered and blown away by parenthood as it stands at 16, 13 and 8 and partnership as it stands at almost 20 years. I’m grieving a motherhood I had and I am relishing freedom. I am proud and sad and I sure as shit am crying, a lot.
When I started this blog almost 17 years ago, can you even imagine!! I had no clue about what lay ahead for me. The work required. The physical and emotional toll being a Mum would bring. The joy and the sadness. The push and the pull of my kids and my hormones as they leave me. I know I’m not alone in feeling it, and I hope you are being kind to yourself as you navigate it too. We are all in this together.
Look what we made!
Watch them go.
Listen to the world as they say “here they come!”
We did it.
We are doing it.
We’ll never stop doing it.
Come, sit next to me and cry too.
