Love. It's all that matters.
T H I S // isn’t my first rodeo. It’s my third crack at this motherhood gig and I tell ya what, I’ve done it all.
I’ve had the good birth, the scary birth and the horror birth. I’ve read the books and read the baby. Trained their sleep, their toileting and their toy dog. I’ve weaned them off boob, onto food, off dummy and onto sleeping through the night. Taught them how to self settle, how to use a spoon, how to read and how to write. I’ve felt the weight of their bodies on mine night after night and also felt the weight of guilt over so many of my decisions. We’ve co-slept, babyworn and night fed. They’ve chucked public tantrums, wee’d on public trees and embarrassed me at public gatherings. I’ve worried about their poo, their sleeping habits, their growth and their nutrition. They’ve cracked open heads, swallowed foreign objects and had suspected broken bones. We’ve seeked out answers from specialists, pathologists and witch doctors. We’ve DONE IT ALL.
But, this last little love, the third time round - she’s shown me with resounding red flag reminders that the only thing that matters is love. Big fat, purposeful, unconditional love. Love for your babe, love for yourself and love for the way in which you choose to raise them.
Love that lets you hold your baby as much as you like. Love that comes from knowing you’re doing the best you can in that moment. Love that feels like sunshine. Love that helps you filter through the judgemental comments and unhelpful opinions. Love that reminds you that they don’t suck dummies forever and that they won’t always sneak into your bed. Love that keeps you rocking back and forth for hours at night and again the next day. Love that gives you contentment around your decisions. Love. All that fucking matters is love.
So my advice, third time round - love wins all the things, spread that shit everywhere. Love hard and long on your babe and always, always love yourself enough to trust in your parenting because, mumma, you’re bloody killing it x