I have come a long way, I wonder in disbelief,
As my little one turns a year old, I breathe a sigh of relief.
I’m done with the hard part, I think to myself,
The pregnancy, the discomfort, the occasional disgust with oneself.
I barely collect my thoughts when my elder one comes along,
“What are you doing, mumma”, my 4-year old chirps like a song.
Are the difficult days really behind me or is it just the start?
With not a second to myself, being myself is kind of hard.
The wet laundry lies in the washing machine, the dirty dishes still in the sink.
But I have an important decision to make – whether to paint those little nails purple or pink.
The room is to be cleaned, and the sheets need a fold.
Yet I play the part of a patient as my daughter examines me for cough and cold.
I am told to be very still, but my mind continues to race.
My boy is about to wake up hungry and all the chaos I am about to face.
I am still hopeful that I’ll be able to shower soon,
As I turn to the clock to realize its already past noon.
Elders tell me to cherish these moments, “Very soon they won’t need you as much”.
But right now, to be honest, that doesn’t seem to be a bad proposition as such.
To all the moms, hang in there as there will be days when all your chores will be done.
But for now, please excuse me as I begin to hear the soft little gurgles of my son.