For every time he screams on the tram and everyone turns to look.
For every time no one helps you get onto the damn tram.
For every time you want to slap the little kid and you don’t.
For every time he’s soiled and there is no diaper in the bag.
For every time other mums are ready to help – but no damn single, unoccupied, fully functioning adult can.
For every time you’ve made the best meal and he won’t even eat a spoon.
For every time a nanny says, “he’s just wonderful” and you’re wondering who the hell he becomes when he’s with you.
For every time a fellow woman (always a bloody woman) says, “Well, why did you choose it then? Why become a mum when it’s so hard?”. Hold on while I plate up a slap for your entrée.
For every time you try and book a night flight so he sleeps and the air hostesses give you shit just because he isn’t being a placid teenager sitting in his seat. He’s two goddamnit. Did I ask you why you chose to be an air hostess?
For every time your heart pops out of it’s box when you can hear his first wails and it’s 11:32pm.
For every time you find it in you to put him on the swing and push him. Constantly. When you’re having the worst of days.
For every time you had to leave your croissant and your tea, quarter eaten and a teaspoon drunk, because he was losing his marbles.
For every time you have your period and that fleeting thought passes, I wish I could just escape.
For every time it was about him. Not you. For EVERY SINGLE TIME.
For every time you fear. A trip. A good nights sleep. A cursing opinion. Tomorrow.
For all of that and more.
You are more legendary to me than any goddamn President, astronaut, deep sea diver or lion facing Mowgli.
Take my crown. Take my bank balance. Take all my love and more. You are simply incredible.
And. Hang in there. You’ve got this.
Take a break.
Cry your tears.
Watch some Bollywood.
Schedule a night away.
You’ve got this sweetheart.
For it too shall pass.