I don’t like…

I don’t like…

I don’t like being a mum.  I don’t like the monotony, the repetition, the feeling that there are hours you’ll never get back.  I don’t like the lack of productivity, the boredom and the mindlessness.  I don’t like hanging around my daughter half reading the same books again.  I don’t like putting the dolly’s clothes back on, again.  Again, I don’t like being a mum.


I like being a mum when I’m not pressured by time.  When I’m not tired.  When I can sit back with her and enjoy the laughter and the gobbledegook words that are forming.  I like dancing with her.  I like turning my head around in the car, catching a glimpse of her joy.  I like that grin.  I like when I least expect it, she surprises me with something she’s just learnt. 

So is it that I don’t like being a mum?  Or maybe I just don’t like being?

What I mean by this, is that maybe I don’t love sitting, waiting, and being…being unproductive, being me.  Being so slow that my mind catches up with my body and I realise that there’s parts of me that I don’t like.  In those moments of apparent boredom, I have the capacity for frustration and fatigue.  


I have the capacity to reach a depth of my mind where the silence and solitude allows me to think about what I’m thinking about.  A space for me to sit with the uncomfortable truths that I had numbed out with chocolate, sleep and TV.

Before having my daughter, I was able to rush from one event to the next.  Not stopping for much.  Not stopping for fear that if I did then the cries of my soul would leave me unrecognised.

Now I get cranky over the byproduct that I’m left with when I look after my daughter, being a piece of seemingly unproductive time.

What if?

Instead I looked at the possibility of all those little interactions of nothingness to me, as a big piece of something to her.

And what if it is just a waste of time to both of us?  Is that so bad anyway?  To waste time with someone I love seems like the best sort of way to pass time.  Whilst the dishes remain dirty and the to do list is growing, I have that opportunity to be.  

In the dryness of the days with my daughter, to experience a kind of unproductive, unsettling, unique passage of time.  To forget about time.  To just be with her, with me.

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