It’s arguably one of motherhood’s greatest paradoxes.
The nerve-fraying desperation for time and space…countered with the dislike of said time and space, at such point as it arrives.
When Amanda Holden was talking about this topic in ‘Amanda & Alan’s Italian Job’, the regret-come-sadness was so palpable, that it struck me as thinly veiled cautionary tale.
A tale that admittedly, I had heard before on more than one occasion, not least through social media’s many ‘blink and you’ll miss it’ missives, which seem to be peddled at every given opportunity.
On this occasion, however, my reaction wasn't so much one of irritation, as it was resonance.
‘That will be me, in ten years time!’ I thought.
Just like that, there I was in my minds eye. Mid fifties, empty-nested, and relentlessly laminating the false economy that was… ‘just give me a minute, kids!’
Saying this, I’ve learned enough about the rabbit hole of ‘mum guilt’ in the last few years, to understand that a large pinch of salt is perhaps required, to make this particular ode to ‘the days are long, and the years short’ more palatable.
In other words, I need to reconcile the long-term need for peace of mind and a clear conscience - that not a precious moment was wasted - with the short-term challenges of keeping all the plates spinning.
This is not to take away from the sentiment of what Amanda was saying, since her words have been an important reminder of the importance of being more present, more often, and of intentionally stopping, to drink it all in as much as possible.
On the face of it, it’s probably just as important to remember this, as it is to keep in mind that there’s likely no falser measure of success (the extent to which I’ve ‘made the most’ of these precious early years) than the harsh, somewhat unreliable lens of retrospect.
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