An Open Letter

An open letter.

 

It’s Mother’s Day, there are 4 of you (yes 4) and life is crazy. Like, super crazy. The sort of crazy I could never have imagined. If someone had said to me when I was in school that by the time you are nearly 40 you’ll have 4 kids, I’d have laughed. I was going to be a midwife and deliver babies not have lots of babies.

 

 

So to Alfie: Our first and only boy. You terrified me when you were born – I was good at my job in the corporate world (never made it to be midwife). I expected to be good at being a Mummy and yet I wasn’t good at getting you to sleep, take a bottle, crawl, walk…….In fact you did everything when you wanted to. Late and totally in your own time and no guidebook could help (I owned them all). Somehow you’ve got to 6. You are obsessed with rude words, bottom noises and being a ninja; you occasionally clear away your Lego; and you always need to be reminded to hang up your coat. You proudly tell your friends that your Mummy “does first-aid” and are always the willing demonstrator for trying out new brands of plaster for our first aid kits. Can I come to your class at school to do a first-aid lesson then Alfie? “No Mummy I’d prefer Daddy.”

 

Grace: Our 4-year old, strong willed, princess-dress wearing baby girl. Self promoted to big girl and now older sister to the littlies. Grace you made going back to work impossible. I’d managed with Alfie, but once there were 2 of you it was more than double. I craved being with you both, took the plunge and became the kitchen table business Mum.

 

You only know me as ‘Mini First Aid Mummy’. From when you were little, you argued with me over whether Baby Annie could come to bed (no you can’t share your bed with a £200 manikin). You’ve let me come to school and teach all your super cute friends about First Aid. I love that I am your super hero and that when you draw me I am triangle shaped and have no neck.

 

Emily & Olivia – we wanted a 3rd and we got twins. We are still in shock, but we adore you. At nearly 6 months, we are broken, exhausted and consuming too much wine in the hours when all 4 of you are sleeping at the same time. I apologise that you spend time sitting in bouncy chairs watching me work, being passed around so that I can take a call or send an email. Your teeny faces light up with the attention you get from all the people we meet. I spend your waking hours willing you to sleep and when you sleep I look at you and wish you were awake.

 

I’m grumpy: I roll my eyes at you all rather than smiling when you demand my attention. The 4 of you do that to me. And yes Alfie – my tummy is a bit squishy… you 4 did that to me too. I love you all and I absolutely love being your Mummy.