On a Friday, I am a mum. Don’t get me wrong, I was there when she was born and have the scars to show I am indeed her mother and that is certainly no part-time thing, but on a Friday (and, because I am very lucky indeed, a Monday and Tuesday too) it is my job.
But, sadly, some days that is how I see it.
Today I woke up at 4.45am in a foul mood. The mood was a hangover from yesterday’s mood, and the day before’s. I sighed unnecessarily loudly and rolled over to read (Facebook is reading right?) knowing all too well that a return to sleep would be impossible. I was already listening out for her sleepy voice and counting down my remaining minutes until I was ‘on the clock’. Not enjoying them, but wasting them and wishing them away. I grumbled as I sifted through the pile of clean clothes (I may be a stay at home mum but I never said I was good at it. Clothes get washed, if they are lucky taken down when dry and folded but never, ever make it to being put away) before settling for jeans. Again. As I sat before the mirror I could hear my daughter in the big bed with her dad next door. They were giggling and laughing and playing as they always do. I sighed again and thought to myself how easy it is for him to be fun when in half an hour he gets to walk out. Even though I know it isn’t.
And I listened again as she was telling him a story…
It was a story about a boat and a baby and the fish in the sea.
I began to let my mind wander and I wondered where that boat might take me if I let it. Where would I end up if I let her imagination lead the way?
And I let it. Struggling at fist to stop talking and telling her what to do. Slowly stopping to listen and breathe and take our time. To let go.
And we had a lovely day in a world made for just the two of us. And I smiled…