Clamp on the Stabilisers

Mary-Ellen Krause - 25 Jul 16

It is with great sadness that we heard of a tragic bereavement this week. My son, with all his lofty conversation and ability to ride a bike at full pelt- yet still a babe himself. When the sad news came, I ran into their somnolent rooms and held them. To feel close to the people who mean so much. Their hair, their growing limbs and their contented, sleeping faces.

It was a stark reminder to inhale every moment. I DO try, but at times, it is hard not to get lost in the fog of the day to day.

The lists that we undertake without conscious thought. The breast or bottle marathon drawing to a close. The moses basket nestled in bags and hidden in the loft. The tiny vests and bonnets-tucked away in a drawer for prosperity. The christening dress with the frills, sitting beautifully in a paper box. All perfect little reminders of those precious early days.

It is apparent that as each day passes, these beautiful, (nay) exhausting tasks are soon to cease. They are not firsts for me, but perhaps nostalgic lasts.

I wish at times that I could clamp stabilisers on my mothering. To quieten the pace and lessen the haste in which they grow.

My youngest is crawling on her chubby pink knees, my oldest to join the ranks of grey short pre school. And so, I try desperately to eek the joy out of each day. I literally inhale their smell, listen to their giggles and conversations, hold them, kiss them and try to photograph the moments in which the four of us exist together. I don’t want to miss out on any of it.

So I stumble exhaustedly through this game of motherhood. Refusing to be a passer by.

There is no pretence that my life isn’t ferociously tiring and my patience, at times fading like a wilted flower. Yet, I feel the most contented and at peace.

Half a stone heavier, less preened, less organised, more haphazard and forgetful. The drone of tiredness buzzing continually behind my eyes. But never the less, hanging round my neck is a badge of pride so heavy that I cannot walk a day without it banging on my chest. That badge makes me twice the lady I was before.

Today, we walked in our park and my son thrust his head back, blue eyes wide and toothy smile beaming. He lifted up his grubby hand and offered me the biggest high five, with a hearty laugh that echoed through the trees. I wanted to hold that moment, capture it and bottle it.

Or the moments that they reach for your hand or sit contentedly upon our knee. These simple actions that can really lift our weary souls.

It’s not just motherhood that makes us feel more alive. I don’t think that having children is the only route of happiness. It is just my little route. Mother Nature came when I needed her. She kindly handed me my much searched for mojo. I’ve held it in my palm ever since.

Like a little pearl in a shell.

I trundle on little walks most days and meet a variety of local ramblers. Often the elderly. They must hear the cacophonous clanging of that aforementioned pride. It’s uncanny what they utter to me. So many different women but the often the same sentiment.

“Make the most of it dear, it all goes too quickly. What I would give to hold my baby again for one last time”

Often these conversations are offered to me through teary eyes. I wonder what experiences these women had. I understand first hand that it’s not always easy or possible to enjoy motherhood. Some precious mothers are dealt post natal cards that make their battle arduous. It is these friends that we need to shoulder, to help them to enjoy the quick passing early years, in spite of their troubles.

I think back to the cloud of birth and fertility trauma but boldly look forward to today.

Under a current black cloud of teething, I contemplate how many times tonight I will be reluctantly pulled from my slumber. As I feed my daughter the hundredth spoon of mush, as I push the scooter up the hill, wipe a nose or dry a tear on my sleeve. I will think of those many women who have stood nostalgically, gazing into my pram. Not really looking at MY child but mentally recalling the nostalgic faces of their own babes. In memory of those women, I’m taking these tough days of motherhood by the horns.

Face on.

Before I know it, there will be cars and boyfriends, nights out, locked bathroom doors and hormonal scented secrecy.

I’m going to go through those pearly gates like a bedraggled boxer, fighting past her prime. With MOTHER tattooed on my arm. Scarred and wrinkled, stooped and fatigued. I’m rinsing every wet bead out of these clapped out days. I keep telling myself that the days when I have copious free time and endless rest, that I’ll hark back to today. Wishing that I could walk in those Birkenstocks for one more time.

For the relaxed and rested mother of my future, I’m slogging for you.

I remember once reading a story about a lady who was lying in her bed, facing her last days on earth, with the love of her family around her. Her family reminiscing about her strengths. A letter writer, a good friend, the warmest of hearts and a devoted mother. They were recalling all parts of humanity that made her brilliant.

Or the beautiful metaphor of motherhood being compared to growing roses. The complexity of soil, preening, tending, watering, supporting. All the arduous care for years. For what? To sit back and to enjoy them. To rejoice in their beauty.

No one will look back at our lives and talk about a spotless house or a bulging wallet. It’s the daily stuff that we are remembered for. No perfection, just bumbling along on this little road called life. Bumbling, as we navigate a path that we are so often unsure of.

I think of that lady and her family. I think of our recent sad news. The words DEVOTED mother come to mind again.

Hanging on in there by a thread, I’ll give it my best shot.

For them.

Mary-Ellen Krause

A mother and Drama teacher. Best things in life- My children when they first wake, sitting on the beach at sunset, drinking prosecco with my mum, climbing a mountain, laughter, a vintage dress, a nostalgic piece of music, walking into my little town and seeing familiar faces, holding hands with Mr K.

View profile for posts, events and more info