Becky Leila and Asher

 Name: Becky

Children: Leila (6) and Asher (3)

Location: Manchester

Previous blog entry: http://www.the-mothers.co.uk/2013/08/becky-leila-and-asher.html

Life since the last blog post: When the last photographs were taken, I was on maternity leave with Asher, our second child. I was at home five days a week with a pre-schooler and a baby, and running on minimal sleep and maximum cake. Looking back, I can see that it was the hardest I have ever worked, but it was also a much simpler time. It was the time before either of them went out into the world, and I was barely in it either. My world revolved in a very small orbit around the two of them. It was a strange, sweet bubble.

Now Asher is three and Leila is six, and life is much more ‘normal’. I go to work, my partner goes to work, Leila goes to school (which apparently makes me an actual grown-up, I realise with a jolt every time I sit on a tiny plastic chair at parents evening, or pair up little white school socks), and Asher is deeply in love with his fantastic childminder. The week is a finely-balanced house of cards which, with one vomiting bug, one last-minute work trip or one forgotten school dress-up day, could collapse around us. The magazines call it juggling. I think of it as juggling jellies on a treadmill. 

But somehow there is more room in my life for other things now, too. For friends, and going to bars after dark occasionally, and exercising, and doing the things I enjoy that don’t involve the children.

The thing is, I love being a mum, and I love going to work, and I love having more of a life of my own- but still, by the end of most days, the combination of it all leaves me wanting to stand in the kitchen shovelling pasta into my face straight from the pan, before falling asleep on the floor.

Motherhood since last being on the blog: Watch me tempt fate recklessly, as I tell you that it is easier now (it’s still hard. But it’s easier). They sleep! They eat normal food! They take themselves to the toilet! Going away for the weekend doesn’t require a Winnebago of specialist equipment! The prospect of spending a whole day or weekend alone with the children isn’t laced with a slight, guilty sense of dread. Instead, I look forward to hanging out with them, having conversations, rejoicing in watching the friendship between them grow (and trying to ignore the bickering), and seeing how long they will let me smell their hair on the sofa before they make me play a game where I am a dog with an American accent.

The way motherhood has changed and is changing surprises me daily, as do their unfolding personalities. They are mine, but they are not mine- they are wholly themselves. So somehow I have ended up with a daughter who protested during the ‘stranger talk’ that she LIKES talking to grown-ups she doesn’t know and meeting new people (I birthed her, so I know she is mine, but we are so very different); and a son who loves to put on a sparkly dress and charge around muttering dramatically ‘I’m Queen Elsa’. And while it’s our job to teach them how to eat with cutlery, be kind, tie their shoelaces, whistle, click and ten million other things (seriously, so many things!), we can’t teach them who to be. They are just themselves.

There is much more disciplining of children involved in motherhood now- as well as the terrible pressure (internal, societal, and from the Internet At Large) to get discipline right. There’s no parenting fail that stings as badly as a discipline fail. Like those times when I start off talking in a calm, firm tone like Mary Poppins, but when I have repeated the same sentence nine or ten times, the flame inside ignites and my voice SUDDENLY RISES TO A VERY LOUD SHOUT; or the time when one of us, I won’t say which (it was him) told the children that they would never watch Frozen, ever again. There’s no guilt like wondering if you have accidentally screwed your child up for life by mishandling those times when they act like an arse, when the next moment you see the way the sides of their mouth have fallen and their fat little cheeks have sagged at your reprimand, and you remember that they are only just starting to learn how to be human, and you know for a fact you are not just the worst parent in the world, you’re the worst person ever.

Has motherhood changed you? I’m poorer, and happier. I’m calmer, and frazzled probably 70% of the time. More motivated to follow my dreams, and lacking in time to do that. Less sociable, but less shy. I’m braver, and terrified to the core of my being. Stronger, and made fragile- because if they break, so do I.

I cry more often and more easily- Asher’s elbow can bring me to tears, for God’s sake, with its dimples and its silky skin and the way it is so defenceless and small; but I’m less frequently sad. 

I have many more grey hairs, and my formerly-toned abs are now…not so. I see more than ever how stupid it is to care about these things, but I care about them much more than I thought I would. 

Hardest parts of being a mother: This is where I should say something about being tired, or the constant demands, or the endless post-apocalyptic sprawl of Lego that covers the floor; the kind of complaints, shared with an eye-roll and a smile, that all parents can relate to (apart from the smug gits, who can just keep quiet).

And those things are hard. The pre-7am starts, day after day, are hard. . I’m constantly amazed at how explosions of mess can erupt in my wake even as I tidy up. And I’d rather not take multi-tasking to the extreme of doing anything else when on the loo, including breaking up an argument, playing noughts and crosses, or pretending to be a dog with an American accent.

But for me, that’s just surface stuff. The hardest part is how much it all matters. Parenting looks like the most pedestrian of worlds: a rolling parade of crumbs and kisses, nits and packed lunches and school plays, wiping faces and bums, and carrying toddlers screaming out of crowded places with a fixed smile on your face. But all of these mundane things are, invisibly, absolutely fraught with feeling.

Even taking my daughter to her swimming lesson is an extreme sport for the emotions. The desperate internal struggle not to be Snappy Mum as I hustle her, late again, through the sweaty, pube-strewn hell of the changing rooms, and battle to wrestle a swimming hat onto her reluctant head. The physical ache that I can’t describe, at the sight of her tiny, spindly shoulder blades rising out of the water; the pride that roars through me when she picks up her feet and kicks once, twice at the surface. The sheer frustration when she drifts away from the group to sing to herself and gnaw on a rubber float instead of doing as she has been asked- and, consequently, that familiar plummet of guilt that we are Doing It Wrong, because our child doesn’t listen to her swimming teacher. And then, afterwards, with a wet hand in mine and a small gap-toothed smile, she asks ‘did you see me?’ and I could melt, almost literally melt into the over-chlorinated swill of the shower room floor.

All of it turns me just completely inside out. I’m going through life with my heart hanging out, pouring joy and pain out all over the place- and stone cold fear, too, because now my heart is out there, I can’t put it back in again, and it is in great danger, because I can’t keep my children safe and well all the time. And love. There is love, everywhere. Frankly, it’s a bloody mess, and I wouldn’t change any of it.

Best parts of being a mother: The best parts are simply, and always: them.

What you wish you’d known before having children: There is very little I wish I’d known. People are forever trying to tell expectant parents how it’s going to be, and what they should do, and how they are never going to sleep again. It’s annoying, and it doesn’t make any difference. All the lessons I have learned as a parent, I have learned for myself- and I don’t think there is any other way. Trying to prepare someone for parenthood is like trying to teach them to play the violin without ever placing an instrument in their hand. It’s no good, until they are holding the bow and they are making a terrible, screeching racket which, hopefully, eventually, becomes a half decent melody.

Any more advice for mums and expectant mums: See above. I’m far from convinced that I know what I’m doing, even now, and I’m certainly not in a position to tell others how to do it. But, since you’re asking, this is about as much practical help as I can offer:
When your child starts school, buy more school uniform cardigans than you could ever believe you will use. Buy as many as you can afford. Because those cardigans, they will disappear, and you will have no idea where to, and they won’t be on the lost property table. They will simply have gone forever.
Something else that will be gone forever is your heart. It will always be outside your body now, beating wildly where you have no control over it. And you can’t buy any spares.
Twitter: @beckygarrod

Mandy and Lucy

Name: Mandy 

Child: Lucy, aged 13

Location: Manchester

Expectations of Motherhood: I had my daughter when i was 21 years old, I had absolutely no idea what to expect! Lucy was the first grandchild on either side of the family so everyone was very excited!

Taking your child: I felt excited, after eight days in hospital I couldn't wait to get home with my beautiful baby.

Reality of Motherhood: People told me it would turn my world upside down but I never felt that way. To me motherhood is a gift and one I will always appreciate being given.

The best/worst advice: The best advice I ever had was from the community midwife, she told me, "Your mum, mum in law, gran etc will tell you how they did things but your instinct will tell you what your baby needs and when it needs it." I always found that helpful.

The hardest part/s of being a mother: Easily the worry that something bad will happen to my child.

The best part/s of being a mother: The feeling of loving my child so unconditionally. The kisses, hugs and cuddles.

Hopes for your child: That my daughter will always be happy.

What advice would you offer to new and expectant mums: Enjoy every moment, even the tears and tantrums because the time will fly by!

Sally and Frank

Name: Sally 

Child: Frankie (nearly) 6

Location: Preston

Expectations of motherhood: My pregnancy was, lets say, sooner than I had planned, and so with that my expectations were limited, I spent most of my pregnancy worrying and panicking. Retrospectively I was so underprepared and just dealt with things as they came along. Having few expectations was not necessarily a bad way to do it, it was just the way it was at the time (with intermittent ‘oh shit’ moments of course!) And sweet fantasies of what this little person was going to look like, smell like, feel like, sound like, my expectations kind of rolled from day to day.....

Reality of motherhood: Essentially the first few years you seem to be so tied up, involved, and breathe every essence of it. From the tiny routine chores to the massive overwhelming feelings of love and guilt and knackeredness; it's border line insanity. This sounds so terrible, but I think it took me until he was about 5/6 months old to realise that he wasn’t going anywhere. I was so wrapped up in the sleep patterns, teething pains, feeds and nappies... I remember sitting down one day and thinking ‘What's next? Whatever it is, Franks here, an he ain’t going anywhere!’ I just had not had the time to take it all in.

For me, as the years slide along and you can see the time going so fast, that sense of worry eases and you start to get bits of yourself back and it allows you to appreciate the journey at bit more. After spending those first years giving yourself to the baby you slowly remember that you also have to give to yourself and let your child see that, as a positive life lesson.

As Frankie is growing the problems change - the joys, and tears and laughs - but he still takes up the same amount of space in my brain as he did from day one (just in different ways). I guess it will always be that way from now on.

Taking your child home for the first time: Seems blurry. It's weird but i enjoyed the cooked bland hospital food, lack of house work and the safety of the warm night lights in the  hospital ward, and, to be honest, was in no massive rush to get home.

As I believe all new Mums are, I couldn’t take my eyes off Frankie whether he was asleep, awake, feeding, whatever, and became quickly addicted to smelling the top of his soft, dark, damp little head. We drove home, midday, with the new car seat so so so slooooooowwwww because we had the most precious cargo. The house had been cleaned - and although with the greatest of intentions I am sure - it really infuriated me because Frank’s Dad had used bleach. I could smell it, and I remember thinking, ‘How rude and harsh and inconsiderate - my baby cant have products like that used in his environment!’ (jeeseeee) Over reaction, but the hormones seemed ridiculous by day three; home day! 

But as I stepped into the living room i saw it was full of cards and flowers, and the moses basket was set up all ready and perfect and that made me feel proud. Frankie had fallen asleep in the car on the way home, I hadn’t imagined that he would, I had thought it would be hectic and crazy, but for the first hour or so it was just still and quiet. I found that comedown a bit intimidating, the world closed down so small. It didn’t stay quiet for long!

Best/Worst advice: I think all of the advice that comes from friends and family whether you find it useful or useless comes from a good place, and it just lands which ever way you and your baby choose to place it.

My Mum is an experienced, practicing midwife and her advice is essentially 'roll with it'. Obviously if I ask for help she’s there without fail, but I know ultimately her faith lies in nature and the waves between newborn babies and their mother. I feel lucky to be around someone like her, with such faith and commitment, but at the same time I applied pressure on myself to be the same, and I’m not sure I was self-confident enough to go with that mind set all the time. I sometimes enjoyed the simple, rigid advice that my Grandma threw out from somewhere in the late 1950s, which I am sure made my Mum silently cringe... but only for a second.

Hardest Parts of being a mother: Aside from the practicalities of the whole balancing act, controlling feelings of worry about doing the best thing for you baby/child in the long run is easily the hardest part for me. Frankie goes to his Dad’s most weekends and it's difficult coping with the empty house after the noise of the week. But I know its more important that he remains close to his Dad, and remind myself that in many ways I am lucky to have that freedom.

Best Part: Chubby cheeks, first smiles, mashing up bananas, silly words, pointless giggles, the stressed times when one small thing they do takes it all away. Sleepy sleepy cuddles, first sloppy wet kisses, wellington boots, trying not to laugh at tantrums. Realising that they’ve got you exactly where they want you and that quite frankly you don’t mind anymore, play fights, christmas mornings, paddling in the sea, sweets. Deciding that McDonald’s is officially guilt free, having your own favourite kids show, getting new pets. The bringing home of drawings, leaves, conkers and finding weird things in Frank’s pockets (like squidged up orange segments, yum.) Watching them do something kind for some one else, night time chit chats and the sound they make when scoffing their tea in........... millions and millions of tiny things make the best bits of being a Mum. At the moment I love Frank’s conversations - I am surprised at how insightful he is, but the best bit is watching him play with and develop his own sense of humour.

Hopes for your family: I hope Frank will always feel that I am here for him to come to and that we remain always best buds. I really would like to see him grow into a kind, non-judgemental, confident, ambitious and fulfilled soul.

Any advice for expectant mums: Its important to talk, don’t be shy, don’t feel judged (there is no right way to do it), remember that the sky won’t be falling down if you fuck up a few times! And take millions of photographs... they might bore your peers right now, but they’ll only increase in value to you, gold dust.