FROM CENTRE STAGE TO THE SIDELINES: THE SHIFTING SEASONS OF MOTHERHOOD

By DBHF Founder, Steph Douglas

There was a time when I knew everything that happened to my kids on any given day, down to the regularity and consistency of their bowel movements. In fact, I spent an inordinate amount of time thinking about or catering for said bowel movements. See also: sleep. 

And every day had potential for firsts. Words, steps, tastes but also insignificant moments; their bouncing excitement at hearing the door go and knowing their other favourite person was about to walk in the room. The first ‘I lub you’. The phases – the pointing, the waving, the animal noises (one of my favourites). God it makes me giddy to remember. My moods were regulated by theirs; I could feel high as a kite walking alongside them, with their little legging-clad, nappy-bummed waddle, and could be crushed in seconds when they had a full on breakdown because I wouldn’t let them run into the road.  

Their existence was such a massive part of all of mine. 

And it was heavy. My whole world was bundled up in their firsts, their sleep, their lack of sleep, my lack of sleep, their health, their happiness. The weight of having to think about potential eventualities, the restrictions on time and spontaneity that felt massive when only months before they weren’t a consideration.   

And some people forget how utterly ludicrous it is when you’re woken up on the hour through the night. It’s bonkers that your kid will have an hour long melt down because you cut their toast the wrong way. It’s beyond crackers that they have a better social life than you and your weekends are spent standing on the sidelines of a swimming pool, a pitch, a party watching them grow and socialise and jump about, lugging bags of snacks and toys and changes of clothes so that you’re always a bit sweaty and late.  

And then coming out of the trenches, getting into a groove. Feeling like we’re in the rush hour but with a little more life of our own and less shit to carry around. A little more confident and less worried about the intense judgement I feared in the baby years.   

Now when they have firsts, I’m not always a part of them. I’m becoming a bit part rather than one of the main characters. I’m always there, hanging around stage-left ready to come on, wanting to come on, occasionally delivering a key line, but mostly hovering in the background. They’re figuring out relationships, friendships, passions, who they are without a parent standing next to them.  

And this is why people will tell you to cherish every moment, usually in reference to having small kids. I spent those early years adjusting to another human becoming an extension of me, and now you’re telling me to dial it in?  

Your child will roll their eyes at something they used to find hilarious and overnight you won’t know with certainty that you’re their absolute favourite person on earth. You might be, but they won’t tell you anymore and you’ll hover around trying to make them like you by getting in the good snacks and doing your best to be ‘cool’, while giving off all the uncool vibes. Sometimes when my teens have friends over I feel like I’m floating above saying ‘shut up, stop talking’ at myself but words are coming out of my mouth that give away how utterly desperate I am to be liked while they all look on non-plussed.  

And then you realise that you were once like them, down to the rolled-up skirt, not-warm-enough clothing and withering eye rolls at your parents. It’s part of it. It’s another phase. They’re meant to separate from us. 

If you’re in the trenches, at some point in the future, you might remember things differently. I look back at pictures of their delicious innocent faces, unkempt hair, round tummies and pudgy grubby fingers. iPhone memories remind me of the fancy dress years when I sometimes battled for them not to go to nursery as a pirate; I stopped noticing that they looked like a little Helena Bonham Carter in DMs and a tutu, accessorised to the hilt. With the gift of time and a little more headspace, I see it for the rainbow-coloured glory it could be.  

And sometimes, if you moan about motherhood, you’ll be criticised for not being grateful. And I promise you this – my three kids are the best thing I’ve ever done. Some nights we get into bed and spend half an hour telling each other about things the kids did or said and one of us will say ‘I love them so much’ earnestly, like the other person needs to understand just how much. And I’m so grateful. I’m also tired and I found the early years hard; I find some of these years hard too. Those feelings can co-exist.  

For now, my youngest’s face still lights up when he spots me in the playground. That feeling when they see you during the nativity and their eyes widen in recognition and you think your heart can’t take it. Simultaneously the older two come home from school and I might not even know they’re in the house. Sara Cox describes it brilliantly in The Teen Commandments podcast – you’re like Patrick Swayze in Ghost, moving around them but they don’t seem to see or hear you as they open cupboards to gather food and leave wet towels and dirty socks all over the house.  

And you still want to protect them but rather than holding that pudgy hand, you have to hope you can still spot what they need from you without them throwing themselves on the floor and wailing at you. Physically, you slowly get a little more freedom, something you were desperate for in those early years. A solo trip to the toilet, a weekend lunch with your partner, leaving the house with nothing but keys and a phone.  

It’s absolutely glorious and it also somehow hurts, even though at times this freedom was everything I wanted. 

So my biggest learning about Motherhood is that it evolves. It contradicts. And just as you think you’ve figured out your role, it changes.  

And you don’t need to cherish every moment. You’re doing everything you can with everything you’ve got. At some point you might see it all very differently and have to think really hard to remember what it felt like. And there’s magic in that. Fuckery and magic.   

If you want to join in and share you’re What I’ve Learned about Motherhood, go for it! If you want to tag me on Instagram, I’d love to read and share it.

And if you’re looking for a brilliantly thoughtful gift for your mum, partner or someone that deserves some appreciation, have a look at our Mother’s Day Gifts here