‘The days are long, but the years are short’

Had a rather rubbish night and today I keep reminding myslef that ‘the days are long but the years are short’.

They won’t sleep with me forever.

They won’t need to stroke my arm to fall asleep.

One day they won’t tantrum and scream because I concentrated on some home admin rather than on yet another crazy dance in the middle of my living room. Correction: it’s not your living room anymore. It’s their toy room now.

One day they will rather eat out than eat my sandwich. Of my plate. With me.

One day I won’t be covered in baby puke, I won’t have to cut through pooed on baby grow or clean some snot of my new dress.

Postpartum hairloss will stop one day.

One day I might actually manage to talk with that friend I keep on meeting with, just so I can pay a fiver for a coffee that will go cold without me even touching it. In that nice caffe where my toddler runs like a crazy monkey and my baby screams all the guests away.

One day I will take a shower that I will enjoy. Not a rushed quick splash of water and some soap. Maybe even a bath (what is a bath?!)

But also one day they will no longer need a random cuddle in the middle of a shop.

One day they will not let me (or I might not want to!) smell their hair, stroke their chubby hands, kiss their little feet.

One day I won’t be able to soothe them with just the sound of my voice or just my boob.

One day they will get embarased by my presence.

One day they will leave the nest and I will want nothing more but to see them.