I haven't wanted to post, because as some wise person once said - If you haven't got anything nice to say, don't say anything at all. But after keeping quiet for several days now, nothing has changed. I decided to write. Sometimes writing helps.
It's not that I'm snippish, or bad-tempered, or ferocious, like the lion-fighter of my dream. I'm just a bit lacklustre. (Don't you love that word? Let me say it again ..... lacklustre)
I suspect I am grieving a little for my children's babyhoods ..... which I'm perfectly aware is silly and ungrateful, not to mention tedious for you to read about (again!). It's ridiculous to feel maudlin when your children are growing and thriving and happy. It's just that I am sensing the beginning of their breaking away from me, and I'm sad. I wonder how mothers the world over deal with this? How do we each carry these babies in our bodies, feed them from our breasts, hold them, comfort them, sing to them, walk with them, swim with them and throw balls with them....... and then watch as they roll their eyes at us, refuse offers to spend time together and push us away impatiently if we hug them too long? How do we go from skin-close to a respectful distance?
Maybe the answer is - gradually. Slowly. With a few tears, and with consolation and understanding from partners and friends and other mothers. With the knowledge that we have done well to raise children who are independent and resilient.
And, I hope, with the occasional quick tight hug from a growing-up child who still loves their mother much more than they show.