My motherhood by Eleanor Tucker

I was done being selfish. I’d had enough of looking after myself. I was ready to embrace it, whatever this mysterious thing called motherhood had in store for me.


Or so I thought. Because no description, no book, magazine or guide, prepares you for this brave new world. And that’s what it is. A new world. You walk into that delivery room, and when you leave with your baby in your arms, the door opens to another existence. One where you are way down the list, but happily so. One where love takes on a new meaning, a new depth, a new resonance. One where nothing, just nothing, is too much to ask.


I try and take each moment in, and cherish it. Ups and downs. The ups are easy to savour, to tuck away into my mind’s memory box. And the downs, well we all have them, and I try and see them as just a part of this whirlwind, this carnival.


My kitchen floor is always scattered in playdough and biscuit crumbs – but would I really want it to be clean? It would mean the house was silent. I traded silence for noise a while ago – and I’m not interested in a refund. After all, the noise of my children is now the soundtrack to my life.


I still look at my son Jake’s face, even though he is now five, and see the newborn features hidden in his cheeky schoolboy expressions. And I watch my toddler Phoebe as she sleeps, tracing the outline of her lips where she once took her milk from me. They will always be my babies. And I will always be their mother. It’s the best job title I’ve ever had.


Eleanor is mama to Jake, five, and Phoebe, two, and is a freelance writer.

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