When I woke up today, it was announced to me that I have a four year old (by said four year old)! It’s actually kind of crazy that four years ago, I became a mother – it feels like just yesterday, and yet it feels like forever at the same time.
Yesterday and forever is only the tip of the iceberg when it comes to the massive contradiction that is motherhood. You love them so so much, and yet you really really dislike them a lot of the time. They exhaust you physically, yet they feed your soul with an energy like no other. You can’t wait to get away from them, and when you do you feel like half your body is missing. It’s a complete mind-f*ck, this motherhood business, and I’ve survived four years of it!
Sam has taught me so much about everything – and I mean that in the broadest sense possible. From a deep and meaningful perspective, he’s taught me to be the strongest person I can be. Cliche as it sounds, he’s taught me that I have patience beyond my years, that I can – physically and emotionally – withstand so much more than I thought possible, that I can without hesitation put someone else’s needs ahead of mine, and that I can hold the most uncomfortable position for hours, just so someone else can be comfortable.
From a practical perspective, his learning phases (read: obsessed about something and then suddenly not) means I know everything about construction vehicles and Transformers and superheroes and I’m now knee-deep in learning all about dinosaurs. He’s taught me that I (who, admittedly, was already very organised and efficient) can be the Master of Organisedness, and that my brain is completely capable of managing work, children, house, and me. He’s shown me that when once I looked at mums and thought holy shit how can they juggle all that – that now I am that mum and I can juggle all of it and still excel in everything I do.
He pushed me to do it, and I’m glad.
And now my creature is four years old, and what a beautiful boy he’s become. He’s so gentle, quiet and considered, not at all a rough-and-tumble boy. He’s intensely sensitive (which is great, except I’m dreading all the heartache he’ll have to deal with as he gets older, caused by less sensitive children) and the most caring little boy ever.
And now that he’s a proper little person, I love spending time with him – like, actually hanging out. We chat, we play, we do little projects and activities together that is more challenging than just pounding on a blob of play dough (sorry Sofi!). He tells me stories, I tell him stories, we make plans, we stick to them, we have so much fun together.
Don’t get me wrong, there are still many many difficult moments. I suspect the ‘threenager’ years last more than just through age three. In fact I’m pretty sure it lasts a decade until they are fully-fledged bona fide teenagers (and then the real shit starts). He still grapples with lots of concepts like sharing and winning (or rather, not winning) and why mum and dad’s rules override everything in the whole world. And dealing with these concepts still very often ends with muchos tears of frustration.
But there he is, all four years worth of him. I’ve always said he’s much harder than Sofi (still is), and he really pushes me to my limits, but I wouldn’t have it any other way. Happy 4th birthday to my big boy xx