I wrote this at lunch time ish. Now at 3am I’ve been up with my son for hours and I’m trying not to get cross. It’s not his fault he is sick, although it is his fault he keeps rolling onto his tummy and trying to crawl. Only babies can be so sick yet so hyperactive at the same time. I’m slightly irritated with him yet so filled with pity for him over his snotty congested nose. Only a mum can do that.
I know some of my posts lately have been a little sooky. It’s part and parcel of being a mum to have bad days. Like all stories there are sub plots that aren’t written about. Like many bloggers and many mummas, sometimes I am just guilty of being in a foul mood. Yet sometimes I really do get down about it all. That doesn’t change how much I love my children though.
I love them so much that I would die for them, in a heartbeat, without a doubt. I can honestly say that. It’s a morbid topic and not one I give much thought to but I know that if me sacrificing myself or some part of myself was necessary to save one or both of these little lives I would do it. I know my husband would do the same. It’s a biological instinct really. The next generation is the future and it is our job to ensure they survive. It’s a primitive urge.
Why, then, is it so hard to live for them? To live with them. To live to serve them and protect them and nurture them and cherish them and value them. If I value their lives more than my own, then why do I have so much trouble serving them in the little ways. Why is giving up sleep or alone time so challenging? Why does it hurt so much to miss playgroup or church because my sick children need to stay home. Why do I cringe at the thought of watching their favourite dvd again or reading their favourite stories again? Why do my husband and I spend more time arguing over why the dishes aren’t done then it would take to do them?
In many ways I am pretty “good” at putting my kids first. I gave up coke and chocolate because it upsets William and breastfeeding is so important to us both. I don’t watch any tv shows of my own choosing. I spend time on the floor helping Alexis with the “shape-o” instead of tidying up for the sake of being tidy. I don’t get my hair coloured because we can’t afford it but we fork out incredible amounts of money on Alexis’ swimming lessons. I don’t even remember the last time I bought a magazine let alone read one. These things aren’t going to earn me any medals though. I’d be embarrassed if they did.
Some who die for their kids in a physical sense might go down in history as making the ultimate sacrifice but some will never be recognized, not on earth anyway. In poorer countries it’s probably a lot more common than we’d care to admit. Fortunately in this country most of us will never be faced with such a choice. Fortunately most of us only have “first world problems” like private schooling verses holidays, swimming lessons verses haircuts, fruit and vegetables verse alcohol, in the night garden verse big bang theory, reassuring kisses and cuddles verse an early night, being adored verse being right.
I don’t want to be a slave to my children nor a doormat to my husband but I don’t want to get so hung up on little things either. If I love my kids so much that I would die for them then it shouldn’t be a big deal to “die to myself” a little bit now and then. I can’t guarantee it will make things any better but if I refuse to get upset about things not going to plan then that has to make me better equipped to deal with it? Yeah?