So this is me, putting myself out there, but I’d like to start a small blog series called A Mother’s Voice. I want to hear a memory or an experience from mums just like me. I want to capture how it really feels to be a mummy and share the experiences and appreciate what it’s really like to call a child your own.
I’d love to hear from you, whether you blog or not, so if you would like to be featured in A Mother’s Voice, please get in touch and email at [email protected] or tweet me at @CharlTaylor. I hope to hear from you!
Here’s my offering – the special moment you keep as your child sleeps.
Sometimes, I watch you sleeping. I can hear the hum of the life downstairs, I can feel the dog watching me, watching you, in the darkness. I think I forget that I’m still his mummy too. In a strange way. But he likes to sit with us all the same, his eyes glow in the dark and I hear his tail gently brush the carpet as I pat the floor for him to sit beside me.
I don’t know if you know if I’m there. Leaning against the bars of your cot, like I did as a small girl at the zoo, staring with wonder. Sometimes, I nervously reach for your tiny hand, scared to wake you from your peaceful sleep, but too addicted to being around you to stop myself. If I’m lucky, you’ll curl each pink finger around mine and hold on. When I’m old and grey and your hands are bigger than mine, I will think back to how special it feels to be held, when my, no-doubt awkward, son will find his soppy mother fondly amusing should she ever ask to hold his hand again.
When you sleep, I see you as a baby again. You are still a baby of course, but sometimes, when you crawl away from me in chase of the dog, or you pull yourself up on my leg, I see a little boy instead. A little boy with a wicked smile and those eyes that smile along with it. But asleep, your eyelashes lie softly on your cheeks, which are flushed pink from growing up. Asleep, your lips pucker and suckle like a tiny newborn – a hint to what your dreams are about.
Sometimes you sigh. I wonder what may have exasperated you so and it makes me smile to find you are full of personality even asleep. Sometimes you smile. Even laugh. It jolts me for a minute, and my hopes are suddenly raised in the thought that you may wake up and join me again, even though I know you should be asleep.
The sweet rise and fall of your tiny chest becomes on obsession, while one eye explores your sleeping beauty, the other will always keep a peripheral view of that in and out. Up and down. I don’t ever want anything to happen to you. I don’t ever want you to leave me.
I uncurl my stiff legs from beneath me. I use every bit of control to steady my usually clumsy self. I shh the dog. I stroke your soft head and stand on my tiptoes so that I can bend down and kiss you goodnight.
I close the door.