August 26, 2010

The Birthday Boy and the Sappy Mum

In most areas of my life, including on this blog, talking about the very, very, serious topic of running, I tend to be ironic, even caustic on a good day. It does not mean to hurt anybody, it is mostly directed at myself, like a shell, and my way to try and stay distanciated, and pretend I am the tough cookie I am not.

Today, celebrating Malo first birthday, I must come clean: there is one area in which I must admit I totally fail to show distance, objectivity, or my trademark dry sense of humour. When it comes to talking about being a mum, think of a cliché, then that'll be me. I am just standing on a little cloud, unable to believe my luck at having such a perfect (in all objectivity) little thing into my life.

I swear I have tried.

I have tried to pretend I don't like changing dirty napppies. Or having to get up at 7am every morning including weekends (on this one, yes, I know, most mums would consider that very late anyway). Or dealing with teething problems. Or not being able to have a remotely intellectual conversation (or making sentences consisting of more than 4 words for that matter) until Martin comes back from work. Or being unable to have one single minute of "me" time as soon as the little devil is awake.Or hating to have to go to the playground.

I wish I could be, at least for the sake of pretending, like these cool mums who make me laugh when reading their comments about forgetting their kids at the supermarket, missing their life from "before", or feeding their kids ready-made meals intead of home-made organic food cooked with love.

But the truth is, I am not. I just love being a mum. All of it. So much that I don't even want to pretend I don't enjoy it as much as I do.

I loved when, a tiny baby, Malo would fall asleep on my belly.

I loved the feeling of perfect peace that went through me thinking that I could make him happy by just being there.

I loved the first "real" smile he gave me (and could give you the exact date, time and location), that will stay in my mind for ever.

I loved his first laugh, too, and  the fact there has been so many since then.

I love when I go and pick him up at daycare, and he sees me, and start sprint crawling towards me faster than I could run, with a massive smile on his face.

I love getting ready to go for a run with Malo in the Chariot, and see the smile on his face when he realises we're getting out and going running.

I love when he takes my hands to indicate he wants to use me as stablizer-in-chief to get up. Gets up. Sit  down. Takes my hands again. Repeats process 100 times.

I love, love, love, going to the playground with him, and laughing his heart out on the swing. And here, let's face it, I would love going anyway, but, at 37 in two days, I feel less stupid doing so with a toddler and pretending I am going for his sake.

I love when I tell him off and he looks at me, with a massive smile than makes his eyes shine, and I can't tell whether he does not have a clue I am being serious-mum-who-is-telling-him-off now, or whether he on the contrary knows it all too well and has already mastered the way to make me melt.

I love having to tidy up the living room every single night of the week, because Malo has himself done so for the entire day, except he and I do not strictly have the same idea on where things should be.

I love, LOVE, LOVE when my one-year old son, in one of his frequent  "love attacks", suddenly and hurriedly takes my head between his little hands, and give me a big, wet kiss, unfortunately still very often involving very sharp teeths, but given with so much love for such a little person that it is impossible to pretend that you're mad at him or even to let it show that it hurts like hell.

And above all, I love that his love for me is so simple. He doesn't not care whether I am cute, rich, a fast runner, smart, a fast chick on the bike, or a good cook (although given his voracious appetite, he may beg to differ on that one). I am his mum, and that's enough.

So that's me then. Less than 2 years ago an ex-banker who would not take crap from anybody and was not sure she ever wanted kids because she thought she may not "have it in her". Now a mum who regularly ,at night, when the little one has been put to bed, cries, of joy, overwhelmed by how powerful this love for and from Malo is.

Bon Anniversaire Malo!


cherelli said...

I LOVE this post.

Nicole said...

What a heart warming post. I feel the same way as you. My 2 yo old is sleeping next to me right now and we are both happy.