I don’t know many women who are recent mums.
Safe to say, it’s about a handful.
Of which, I talk to a couple on a regular basis.
Neither of my sisters are mums yet.

On Saturday night, V asked me,
“Do you ever wish you didn’t have this life? The marriage, the motherhood etc?”.

Some part of me.
Be it small.
Be it miniscule.
Said, “Yes. Sometimes. Momentarily”.

And I felt
Bloody awful.

And that feeling just sat there.
The whole night.
The next morning.

It just ate and ate itself into me.
And I could feeling it getting a bit out of proportion.

Until I turned around and there was a face in the window.
We were eating breakfast out.
And there was literally a face in the window.

A friend from a long, long time ago.
Waving at me.
She is a mum to a girl of 3.

And that feeling came gushing out.
She said.
Those words.
The words I didn’t know I had been dying to hear.

She said,
“I know what you mean.”

She said,
“You can step away from them because you’re going bat shit crazy but then you miss them within a moment.”

She. Got. Me.

It’s hard to explain this phenomena.
Except that now I know.
Every mother is blessed with it.

A bucket load of love and a pinch (or a dollop) of loathe.
A magnetic force of attraction and a fleeting moment of repulsion.
Sometimes the feelings can inverse.
When it’s 4am and he won’t sleep.
When it’s lunchtime and he wants to hug your ankle.
When it’s time for him to wear a cardigan and he screams.

Then it gets crushingly hard and escape seems like a dream.

I know. I feel it.

I. Get. You.