What a week

And thank you to the week I will forever refer to as ‘my transition phase of motherhood’.

I’m in the transition phase of motherhood.
And it very much feels like the transition phase of birth.

Ya know the part in labour where the intensity ramps up a bazillion fold, and you think you’re either going to explode or pass out.
It’s the point where your cervix is fully dilated and your body starts naturally ejecting the baby out of your body.
In the transition stage of labour it feels as though the contractions are no longer seperate. Instead they become one giant wave of overwhelming intensity where you sigh in abandon “I can’t do this anymore”.

Well that’s basically how I’m feeling, but in #mumlife form.
Every day feels intensely gruelling. Every day I’m being pushed to my edge as a mother. Everyday I’m being called to rise to another challenge.

And of course this is motherhood. I’ve got 3 kids so this aint my first rodeo in the realm of surrender, digging deep and rising to the occasion.

It’s just that I’ve never experienced it with such relentless vehemence before.
It’s like I’m catching no breaks, no breathers. It’s just one big fuck-off uterine contraction after another.

To give you an idea, in the space of one week, this is what went down in #mumlife…

It started with loosing my 5 year old son, Nash. But not a little five minute ‘whoopsadaysie where were you hiding?” situation. A proper 15 minute in the middle of Byron town, asking strangers “have they seen a little boy riding a blue scooter?” and giving them my number, situation. And to give you context, my kids slip away from me a lot so I don’t really get bothered by these things, but enough time had passed that I was starting to worry. Made worse by the fact that earlier in the week I’d heard of 3 incidences where young kids had been approached and taken advantage of by pedophiles in the area. (I know, Byron shire isn’t all peace signs and good vibes).
So yeh my brain was taking a turn in that direction. I ended up finding him. He’d cross a main road to get back to our car and was hiding behind the car, petrified and sobbing. My heart breaks and tears well even now remembering his poor little face filled with such fear.

Next day.
All the neighbourhood kids were playing on the street out front of our house. I gave my kids strict boundaries of staying right where I could see them from the kitchen while I cooked dinner with my baby.
Nash completely ignored those rule, and rode off. Cue his sister and another friends kid I was minding to follow him to ‘get’ him slash use it as an excuse to also go beyond the boundaries. By the time I grabbed my baby and went out on the street to call the kids back I couldn’t see any of them.
I had to storm back to the house, throw my baby on my bike and ride the streets screaming for them to come back. I felt completely out of my depth. 4 children against one adult. All had wheels. All completely disregarding my urgent cries. (I know children ignore their parents often but my screams had an energy of urgency about them. And it was and still is worrying that the kids didn’t even clock it. It made me feel like I really had no reign on my kids whatsoever).
I found Nash at a kids house he knows is completely off limits.
1, because it’s too far away.
2, I don’t know the family.
3, because screens, video games and lollies are normal in that house.
And while I respect every home runs it’s own race, I’ve worked dam hard to avoid point 3 and keep it very minimal in our family.
And this all felt a bit raw to me given I’d recently gained an insight into what some families in the neighbourhood think are okay for their kids who are also my kids age. Think Prime Energy drinks, Fortnite video game, and overly sexualised music and movies. Yep welcome to childhood in 2023.  It honestly shocked me. I really didn’t think I’d have to deal with this stuff yet. My two older kids are 7 and 5 for gods sake. I thought a had at least a few more years to go before hitting these tween/teenager themes. But as shocking as it was, I was glad to have my eyes opened in this way, to remind me to hold on tighter to my kids. (cue first substack piece. Have a read if you haven’t yet).

Then we had a Nit infestation.

Then I got called in to have a meeting with my daughters class teacher because of “some things  she’s been overheard saying”. I literally sighed out loud “oh for fuck sake, what now” when I read it.

Then the day after that, I found a note in our backyard calling my 5 year old son “A fucken bitch”. Along with some horrible words basically saying Nash can’t play with these kids anymore. This note was written by kids, who believe it or not, are my sons friends. Who come to our house and play beautifully numerous times a week.
These words and the bullying nature of the letter hurt my heart, hard.
Not my sons. Thank goodness. He doesn’t even know it exists. I scooped that letter up and put it straight in my pocket as I raced out the door to take my daughter to netball.
It didn’t hurt my son, but it hurt me.

It was my first experience of a child of mine being bullied.
It felt heart wrenching. It felt like my heart was both sinking into my stomach while also walking around outside my body, fully exposed. I tried my hardest not to cry in that moment of shoving that letter deep into my mum-jeans.

I dealt with the incident. Obviously I did. In a fair, understanding, yet also ‘don’t fuck with my son ever again’ vibe.

Then Sunday arvo rolls around and I find out that one of the neighbourhood kids who I’ve got strict boundaries on my kids not playing with, this week downloaded porn onto another kids Ipad. The kids are 6 & 7 years old.

At this point I’m in full surrender mode. Just like in birth, I’ve now reached that point where I’m like “I’m done, I’m not cut out for this, this is beyond me, I’m not strong enough to handle this”. You know, all the self doubt talk.

And just to deliver one final contraction right before the finale, the week ends with my daughter breaking her arm. She’s coming in crying at the literal moment my friend is standing in my kitchen telling me about the porn incident.
Honestly at this point a broken arm feels like the least of my worries. A very minor and easy thing to deal with.

And that was my week.

Oh and also, this whole time my baby is sick. So I have a toddler who is crying for me ALL DAY. Refusing to do anything except leech off my poor boobs all day everyday. And all night. At least 5 times a night. I was fucked from the sleep deprivation and all day whinging in an of itself.

And that’s mum life alone. That’s without all the other adult human things like work and mortgages.

I guess it all felt compounded by the fact that during this same week I also attended two parent evenings at my kids schools that really pressed the importance of retaining our childrens purity and innocence through deep connection, familiar rhythm and loving, firm boundaries.

All of which felt completely absent within my home at this point in time.
Basically these parental expert evenings, although very insightful and inspiring, were coming at a time where home life had never felt more disconnected.
Love me some good shadow reflections!

(I joke, but also I do really appreciate the messages the universe was sending me. The overall themes and what was being called of me, day after day were not lost on me.)

But I do remember during it all, actually wondering how it would play out.
Part of me was thinking “Is this it? Is this actually motherhood now? Is this what being a mum beyond the adorable baby and toddler years is like?”
And then I remember thinking “No babes, come on. You’re transitioning. It’s a big explosive surge, then you’ll land in a space of pure post birth bliss.”
But then the first voiced chirped back “This isn’t actual birth you nitwit. This metaphor of yours doesn’t apply. This is parenthood, this is your life, forever now, but don’t worry, you’ll continue to grow and stretch to meet each new calling. But you will become very weathered and look tired AF forever now due to the continual slog of it all.”

So for a few days I was lingering in this space of… ‘maybe this ends and bliss takes over’, or ‘maybe this continues, but you’ll grow in your capacity to hold it all’.
I was leaning towards the latter. Because that’s been my experience of motherhood so far.

A newborn felt extremely overwhelming for a really long time, until I had a toddler, then the newborn blob that just laid there and did nothing seemed easy compared to my toddler who was running onto roads, eating cat shit and almost breaking her front teeth daily from the falls she was having.
And maybe there are some mums of teenagers reading this right now thinking ‘Oh honey this is nothing, wait till…’

But then I experienced it. Days and days of deeply connected family bliss. The post birth tranquility that comes after your relentless dedication during the transition phase.
And I realised, it’s not either ‘stretch in your capacity’ or ‘wait for the transition bubble to burst’, it’s both.

It’s the way in which you show up and hold yourself in the moments of challenge that create the moments of peace and contentment thereafter.

And ofcourse, how perfect! After all, this is a big part of the work I do, supporting people in tenderly loving themselves while they are revealed parts within that feel uncomfortable and too big to face.

Well played Universe, well played.

So thank you. To the week I will forever refer to as ‘my transition phase of motherhood’ for revealing to me the parts of my mothering that needed more focus and attention, and for the relentless nature of it all that called me to tend to those parts with courage, devotion and self love.