Trying to do the right thing: The Collective

I once convinced my siblings that I was adopted.

And they believed me, twas only for a slight moment, but as a teenager that yearned for complete independence, I took that moment and savoured it.

We laugh about it now.

Actually, I am usually the only one laughing, because I am expecting the goat child to do the same.

My life plans were set.

I had the most wildest of mountains to conquer and those peaks certainly didn’t have nappies, school reports or soccer games on them.

I had zero interest in babysitting for others.

All I desired was, from my 17yr old POV, freedom from the constraints of society.

It is quite astonishing how life brings you back around.

It wasn’t until my cherubs arrived did I realise that my mother has been, and always will be, my strongest supporter.

From handmade clothes throughout school to letters of encouragement during my darkest days, she has always held my hand.

She never let go.

Through my multitude of apologies at 2am, she was there.

My childhood was a mixture of glitter on the carpet, Bon Jovi, and BMX riding til dusk.

I ran up the slide.

I made bad cups of tea.

I even tripped my ballet teacher over with my amazing skill.

I was determined to try everything, and my mother allowed me the grace to do so.

My desire now is to give that life to my own cherubs.

To install in them the joy of living in a country town, neighbourhood friendships, walking to training and the fear of being caught because the mums have a secret network.

But I constantly worry that I am not doing it ‘right’.

That despite my best intentions and allowing bandaids to cover their entire face when they so “really need them on my eyes mum”, I can’t protect them forever.

My mother once said that having children is like wearing your heart on your sleeve.

It didn’t make sense until my firstborn was fighting for his life and I was powerless.

He was 5 days old before I could hold him.

It was in that moment I had an inkling of what my mother must have felt all those years I left her letters unanswered.

My mother is strong, brave and patient.

And I honour her, I honour all mothers.

Those who have carried, those who are yet and those who hearts break still.