If you only knew the life in store for you, the memories you’ll make and the hardships you’ll overcome. Maybe you’d be less throwaway with your comments on parenthood. Maybe you’d think twice before you said things like ‘You’re only pregnant, not ill’ or
‘People have kids every day it can’t be that hard’
If you knew at this point in time, that pregnancy would disable you, leaving you bedridden, unable to walk, you may be less inclined to shrug when someone complains about morning sickness. If you were yet aware of the nausea that sits in the pit of your stomach for twentyfour hours a day, the pain in your head that will have you believing you’re suffering a stroke.
If you only knew how the hormones you battle monthly will accelerate and multiply leaving you to question your sanity. If only you understood the trauma that comes with birthing a child and the responsibility that comes with raising one.
You will learn what it feels like to feel real fear, earth shattering, life splintering fear, when your newborn is rushed to the NICU just hours after she’s born. And again when you trust the strangers at nursery to care for her, the very first time.
You’ll be surprised at all the times you once thought you were tired.
Hindsight is a wonderful thing, and one day you will regret the comments you made about the loud children in restaurants and their parents. Instead, you’ll look at the mum wrestling her child into a high chair and you’ll give her a knowing smile. One day you’ll eat your words about never letting your kids eat crisps or sleep in your bed. What you’ll do instead is, curl yourself around their tiny bodies and you’ll smooth down their damp hair. You’ll wipe moist eyes from crying and kiss their tiny toes. You’ll definitely roll your eyes when they wander in your room for the 7th time in the middle of the longest night.
If you knew that one day your world will centre around your children and that you’ll never be happier than when you’re cuddled up with them on a rainy Sunday, or laughing with them at the park on a sunny Friday afternoon.
You’ll gasp at the price of school uniform and literally beg a person less that 1/5 your age to eat a single pea, hell you’ll even offer her £2 for the privilege. You’ll finally get to experience what it feels like to stand on Lego, and when your child repeats a well placed f-bomb, instead of grounding them for a year, you’ll have to hide in another room to shield your bubbling laughter – you know it’s not funny, but you just can’t help the hilarity in the contrast of those words coming from tiny mouths.
One day you’ll understand that there are no days off for parents, you will wonder how you have time to be this sick, because there is never a moment that you will not be thinking about your children. You’ll come to realise that stay at home mums are fucking saints, and the life admin of a single day running a family, is the equivalent to the last ten years you’ve spent working in an office.
You are currently the premum who swears everything will be organic, but you’ll soon learn that food is food, even if it’s crunch corner yoghurt at 8am.
You will learn to pick your battles and allow your children to go to school in a Santa onesie in the middle of May. Happily accepting the bollocking from the teacher in opposition to a 7am showdown with a tiny version of yourself.
Buttons you didn’t know existed will be pressed, daily. You’ll one day feel like you never get a single minute to yourself, whilst also feeling isolated and alone. Missing them when you are parted.
You’ll look back on the person you are now, the one who says ‘when I have kids, I’m going to do something other than talk about them 24/7’ and you’ll laugh, and laugh.
And then you’ll feel that same fear, all over again when you do it for a second time. But never again, will you judge another mother.