When I was a bit younger, a bit skinnier and a bit hotter I thought I was pretty good. I mean, I had a nice family, lived in a nice suburb by the beach, finished a uni degree or two, got married to a babe, bought an apartment, had a good job, bought another house and did some travelling. I could drink beer and not get a hangover, wear high heels everyday and not hurt my feet, buy designer threads without running out of cash and I didn't have hairs on my chin. I probably thought I was a little superior, truth be told.
Life is a great leveller.
In the past three years I have watched my body expand and never quite return to the shape it once was. I have laboured for days, breathed through contractions, declined offers of drugs and taken long hot baths believing that my body 'knew what it needed to do' only to find that it didn't, and I couldn't. I have fed those babies from my breast, my now tiny, empty, saggy breasts. I have been out of the workforce so long I wonder if it would ever take me back. My wardrobe consists of size 12's from Glassons and the last holiday I had was to my in-laws weekender.
I now have two children to raise. Two individual people who I can't control, only shape.
Motherhood is a tough gig, one that know I'll always struggle with. But it is the most joyful and humbling experience. I am both loved and completely and utterly disrespected each and every day. My life is nothing like it was and I am nothing like I was.
I'm broken, stripped bare and unworthy, yet I have been given the richest blessing imaginable in those two little people. Those sweet creatures that call me mum and clearly state my inadequacies, faults and prickles. Just this morning while giving Zeph a big bear hug, he pulled away, rubbed my chin and said 'what's that? oh, a prickle... i don't like that mum'. hump. case in point.
We are a collective, us mothers.
Happy International Women's Day.