Each others world

When my baby was nine months old we moved from London to a small town in the south east. And overnight, I was alone. 

Office visits, coffees with friends, gallery trips with baby in carrier. It was now me and baby in a tiny rental. I was his world and he was mine, which I knew should be enough. But it just wasn’t. I counted down the days until my maternity leave ended. 

Little by little we explored our new life together - park trips, baby groups, make-believe games with new neighbours in the garden. 

Then I got the news I was being made redundant. Two months after that, Covid hit. 

And again, we were alone. One park outing a day. No groups, no bubbles, no friends. Masks on everyone, scaring my boy in his peak social development phase. He became withdrawn and I think I did too. How could I make a life for us in a tiny house? We did it though. Singing, making bunting, playing in a paddling pool. 

Now I look back and that feels like a different person. I think I didn’t acknowledge the loneliness and sadness I felt at the time. To protect him, of course - but hiding it all away meant there were moments that I broke. Snapping at him for dropping his bowl, crying whilst he napped, staring into space while he played. I became detached. But there were moments of joy, and I slowly learned to ride on the back of those moments, stretch them out all day. Letting our eyes follow a bird hopping from branch to branch, plunging our hands in cold soil, walking with no destination just to feel his hand in mine. Our lives slowed, weighed down with each other. 

Now he is a happy, hyperactive, healthy seven year old with bags of energy. We have another son now, and they roll around on the floor playing for hours. He has trouble regulating his emotions, sometimes struggles socially and I will always blame myself for not dealing with that time better, for not being more fun, for not being more present or patient. 

But isn’t this what we all do, as mums? We blame ourselves and really what we could all do is with a bit more understanding. With a bit more support. With a coffee, a chat, the chance to vent with people who won’t judge you. Some real advice, rather than Instagram influencer telling you everything you’re doing is wrong. I don’t know if I’ve learned anything about parenting in the seven years I’ve been a mum, except perhaps that all my boys need is for me to love them completely. But that’s the easy part. I’m still learning how to love me.