missing ingredients

missing ingredients

I remember being pregnant and reading this “recipe for motherhood”. It was something like – ‘Mix a heart full of love with patience and kindness. Add barrels of laughter. Heat with sunshine and spread generously for a lifetime of joyful memories.’ I felt all warm and gooey inside, rubbed my belly and thought- Yes, I’m ready, bring it on baby.

Now I can’t help but wonder what that woman was smoking when she wrote that recipe.

There are certain truths about motherhood that no one will tell you. Truths that go beyond needing to be patient and kind. That your bowels will be so backed up from not being able to poop when you want to. That your libido will decide to take a sabbatical for Lord knows how long. That you will oscillate between loving and resenting your child at least twenty times a day. That finding time to moisturize yourself will be a luxury. That torture isn’t about Braveheart experiencing being stretched limb to limb by the rack but your body being tugged between the forces of lack of sleep, food and general peace of mind. But most of all, despite all the nights of questioning your abilities and crying into pillows, you would still not give any of it up.

Sometimes I feel like I myself am on some big trip really. I drown in absolute exhaustion and my head spins. I lie on the sofa and see colors swirling in my head. For a moment I’m in my own world hallucinating that I’m alone, and then I’m woken. Either by a gentle little cuddle or the usual siren-style yelling.

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