Sometimes I forget that I’m responsible for someone else. Usually when Ted’s asleep.

I forget that I can’t just go back to bed if I’ve had a rubbish night or stay on the sofa watching films and eating crisps.

Maybe it’s not that I forget per se but that it surprises me when I remember.

Sometimes when I’m heading up to bed after half an hour watching TV and drinking tea I look at my son’s bedroom door and remember that there’s a baby in there. It’s not that I forget about him, but sometimes I do suddenly remember.

Other times I’ll be joking around with my husband like the old days and I’ll suddenly remember that I’m a Mummy now. I guess I have only had four months to get used to it.

Usually it’s about my age. I don’t feel thirty. I feel as though I’m in my early twenties and it shocks me when I remember that I’m not. I forget that the 90s weren’t just a couple of years ago.

And so when I remember that I’m a Mummy what I’m doing is realising that I’m a grown up now. I’m responsible for someone other than myself and, stranger still, I love it. I love putting someone else above me. I love not thinking about myself.

But I also love those moments when I don’t remember that I’m a grown up. I suppose the beauty of having kids is that from time to time you get to act like one and that, actually, it’s pretty responsible to understand that your children need you to bring out your inner child for them.



About Stitches and Stretchmarks

Honest and frank Mum of one.
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