Tag: mum life

Would You Like Seconds With That?

Photo by Vidal Balielo Jr. on Pexels.com

Nothing irritates me more than being asked if I would like anything else when I’ve only just taken the first bite of my meal. Let me taste my food, chew, swallow, take a moment to digest, and THEN you can ask me if I would like ‘contorni’, ‘secondi’ or ‘dolci’. Nothing chokes me up more than being abruptly asked when am I having a second child.

Like so many women these days, I chose to put certain priorities ahead in my twenties and early thirties such as career and travel. I was never the ‘motherly’ type by definition and for most of my teenage and adult life, I envisaged a future of work, travel and fur babies. In fact, for a long time, having children was a hard no. If someone asked me the dreaded ‘do you want children?’ question, I  would swiftly brush it off. All around me though, I am surrounded by what I call ‘superwomen’. By my definition, ‘Superwomen’ are not those working mums who step out of the house five days a week and drop their bub at daycare. Let’s be honest here mums, what’s more challenging on the soul and psyche? Eight hours of mothering or eight hours of work? Yes- ‘Superwomen’ are those mum’s who are fully- and I mean FULLY immersed in motherhood. They are there all day every day every day and  they do not need to ‘escape’. They are there. Just like our mum’s, they don’t work because motherhood is their life, their job and their soul purpose. There is no Au Pair- they are home bodies and they do it all. In fact, many I know don’t even own gym memberships and Instead they squat at home with their baby’s held to their chest, followed by the proud Instagram post. These women always dreamed of a life filled with multiple dimpled butts and gummy smiles. While I was busy planning the next trip, changing my career for the third time and dancing until 4am, some of my closest women- the ‘superwomen’ of my world were growing humans and leading a life that I could never imagine myself living.  I guess I kind of assumed that I wouldn’t take the path to motherhood ever, because as I passed the age of 30, my priorities didn’t shift and while I had always been a romantic, getting married was a given, but having children was not. 

Becoming a mum did happen for me- it was a huge decision, and even then, I never really fully ‘made the decision’. In my early thirties, I developed mixed thoughts and feelings around ‘potential’ motherhood. After a visit with a very abrupt gynaecologist at 33  to get an IUD, I was told my egg count was ‘low’. For a 33 year old, this is a confronting statement, and because I wasn’t ‘there’ yet, I just accepted the comments and trusted that the universe would give me what I needed. Being someone who prefers the natural approach to so many things in life, freezing my eggs was not an option. As I also believe in the old adage ‘things happen for a reason’, it was easy to develop the mindset that if I wasn’t cut out to be a mum, then I wasn’t cut out to be a mum. 

When I fell pregnant at 35 after only one month off the pill,  it was a shock. And while I had decided that I was excited to take the next step with my partner, I didn’t exactly feel ecstatic to be pregnant. My first words were ‘oh fuck’ followed by tipping out the bottle of wine on the kitchen bench and a phonecall to my best girlfriend where I proceeded to say ‘fuck fuck fuck fuck i’m fucking pregnant’. But I promptly accepted the gift that is life and immersed myself in the journey of motherhood. I treasured that tiny soul inside of me like she was my universe and I even enjoyed the journey of pregnancy. Yes, I was finally at a stage in my life and relationship where I felt comfortable in all aspects of my life. My career was established, I was fit and healthy and I had done the work. 

Fast forward eighteen months into my motherhood journey, and the question of number two lingers, heightened by the external nudges. I am so aware of my age and my mental note to self to have a cut-off age for motherhood. My body still feels in 15% recovery mode and in between feelings of groundhog day, partial longing for my previous life, sense of discipline (and body), I am more than filled to the brim. My daughter continues to surprise me every day and I am falling more and more in love and awe as I watch her evolve and grow. As for number two though, unless you are a ‘superwoman’, how does one decide that two is the right path? Maybe if I had the gift of time, that is, if I were in my early thirties, I could grapple more with this concept, but between the on and off sleep deprivation and feelings of overwhelm, I feel like the moments where I desire to have a newborn again are fleeting. Get it out of the way? Ha. Occasionally (usually when I am ovulating), I get intense feelings of wanting to be pregnant again and to add to our family,  but then it’s like I snap out of it and reality kicks in. With the growing chaos in the world and the small feats that make me identify as ‘me’ again, I am truly torn. There is so much that I want to do. So much. The things that make me happy to my core include hiking, yoga, travel, attending music festivals and having a job that I enjoy. Not exactly the perfect list of core interests to accessorise with a baby. And when I dream of the future, there is no concrete vision of what family looks like. I have only the examples portrayed by my beautiful mumma and my sister, who both chose to have tribes. 

One? Two? It’s a constant game of tennis and I feel like I am stuck in the net. This is not a light decision for me and as many of you reading this probably know, this pivotal decision changes lives- for better or for worse. For some, embarking on the second child journey leads to a complete loss of self, loss of intimacy, life purpose and even failed marriages. For others, they wouldn’t have it any other way. Their children complete them. Whichever way you look at it, this decision forces me to assess two different identities and the prospect of two completely different life paths. If I could program my ovaries to procreate the cutest little blonde boy with bulging blue eyes and the gentlest of personalities to replace my late brother Henry, then maybe, just maybe I’d go again. But for now, life challenges me. I am a deer in the headlights and eventually, the decision may just be made- FOR me and not BY me.

Until Next Time….

xoxoxo H.V.G.

The ‘Mumposter’

“[Motherhood is] the biggest gamble in the world. It is the glorious life force. It’s huge and scary—it’s an act of infinite optimism.” – Gilda Radner

I had a moment at Salsa Class the other day. You would think that by my late thirties, I would have my shit together and quite frankly, not care what others think. When I arrived at class, I felt more than a little little insecure. I had my period, I had been struggling to figure out what to wear because I felt bloated (yes I move better when I look good), and I wasn’t exactly feeling sexy or like dancing with strangers. When I walked into the dance studio, all of the presumably younger Latinos and Latina’s (I am neither of these), were greeting one another excitedly with kisses and hugs and the energy of the room was a buzz. As usual, I removed my comfy shoes and sat down to put my heels on in the hope that I would at least look the part and be able to move my stiff hips and tight shins a little more freely. I was ok, and then I wasn’t. Firstly, I had sat down next to a young Latino guy who had been friendly to me a couple of months back, offering to meet up to practise our dancing. Due to life – being a mum and planning my own wedding, I neglected to ever lock in this practice and ever since, I couldn’t shake the cold shoulder feeling from him. He half looked up, looked at the possessions on the chair next to him then he turned back to the dancing. As two more dancers turned up, they approached him with excitement and started an energetic conversation. The calm adult in me told me to keep watching the previous class (who were very good), and to keep smiling. I am not in high school and I do not need to be affected by aloneness. But- I felt like an imposter. I felt like I shouldn’t be there- like I wasn’t cool enough, young enough or attractive enough to fit the mould of a Salsa Dancer. Mind you there are a handful of over 50’s in the classes, although the average age seems to be twenties to thirties. There was no obvious reason for me to feel this way. 

When class started, I was relieved because it was a double class with two levels of dancers, meaning I could just blur into the dancing scene and forget all of my unwarranted ‘imposter syndrome’ feelings. Then there were those one or two familiar faces that I knew would make me feel welcome including the instructor. I was ok. Everything is fine.  “Ok everyone, partner up and make 3 lines”, says the instructor. My ‘mum brain’ struggles to process anything complex. Threeeee lines. Uh, yes three lines. By the time I figured out what ‘three lines’ meant, I realised almost everyone had formed couples. I looked at the last couple of solo men and started to walk towards them only to be interjected by other women. Then I was alone. Oh gosh. Looking around the room, I realised that I was standing by myself and everyone else was partnered. I won’t go into the details, but it certainly felt like a primary school flash back moment where I hadn’t been picked for a sports team. My cheeks flushed as multiple people were telling me at once where to stand because I wasn’t making enough space for the couples to move in their lines. I was almost tearing up and every part of me wanted to rip off my shoes and escape from the room. When I got home, I cried. 

Motherhood has really shifted my identity. Ever since I had my daughter, I haven’t felt like myself. I experience fleeting moments of myself like when I have a good session at the gym or when I’m dancing- and that’s about it. I am 18 months into motherhood. Unlike many women, I did not bounce back. Many would argue that I don’t have anything to worry about because I am a normal size and am fit. However, I have truly been grieving the person i was before becoming a mum- physically, emotionally and energetically. I am not going to lie- I used to get many looks from the opposite sex and I always felt confident whilst working out or attending social gatherings or public venues. I found keeping my appearance in check almost effortless pre motherhood. I had so much energy to train and i didn’t even have to think about the food that was going into my mouth- i must’ve just been intuitively doing the right thing.  Since becoming a mum though, I have gained extra kilos that I can’t shift; losing the great hourglass shape my body used to have. Food is comfort and I have to squish my thighs and belly into my clothes these days. I have honestly aged five years and I have lost my mojo almost completely. Sex drive. What’s that? 


This has been the toughest transition in my life. I do believe that some women are built for motherhood. I am not. You know those women who from their primary school years are obsessed with babies and go into adulthood with a vision of the family and the white picket fence? Then they pop out 3 under 4 and are oh so blessed and still fit into their pre baby jeans? My vision was more of the man, the high life, the travel, the career and the money. And all of the above was to be provided by yours truly.  Until I was 35 I didn’t think I wanted children. My now husband provided a sense of security that I had never experienced and so my vision shifted. Trust. Protection. Being provided for. All of this is what has led me to take this path instead of the other, The outcome? I often struggle. It does not always come naturally and it is work- a lot of work. Don’t get me wrong, I am happy with my family. “Blessed” as they say and I honestly do believe that my baby girl is some kind of miracle as she was both created and born with minimal stress or fuss. I am elated every day to have her, but it is  harder than I ever imagined and there are days where I really really grieve “me”. I haven’t quite found my feet yet a year and a half into the journey and there are so many days when I feel like an imposter – just like in dance class. In dance class I WAS the mum. I felt frumpy and there was an illogical part of me that wanted to be at home being a housewife, whatever that means these days.

In motherhood, I also feel like an imposter. I feel like I am that girl from Salsa class that has entered the sacred realm of motherhood without my licence or loyalty card stamped with four visits to the maternity ward at the Royal Women’s. I often feel lost, empty and a shell of my previous self. There are so many moments of pleasure, pride and disbelief that come with the job, but I have no doubt that becoming a mother for many is an entire life transition that can take years. There is eternal work and some never even make the transition.  Having a child is not simply ‘becoming a mum’. It shifts the dynamic as an individual, a partner, a lover, a friend and a career woman. It’s wild. It’s tough. It is glorious. It hurts. It changes you. Getting your ab’s back or fitting into those jeans is only touching the surface. The real work is realising that I am meant to be here and it doesn’t really matter what that looks like.

When class started, I was relieved because it was a double class with two levels of dancers, meaning I could just blur into the scene of dancing and forget all of my unwarranted feelings. Then there were those one or two familiar faces that I knew would make me feel welcome including the instructor. I was ok. Everything is fine.  “Ok everyone, partner up and make 3 lines”, says the instructor. My ‘mum brain’ struggles to process anything complex. Threeeee lines. Uh, yes three lines. By the time I figured out what ‘three lines’ meant, I realised almost everyone had formed couples. I looked at the last couple of men standing alone and started to walk towards them only to be interjected by other women. Then I was alone. Oh gosh. Looking around the room, I realised that I was standing by myself and everyone was partnered. I won’t go into the details, but it certainly felt like a primary school moment where I hadn’t been picked for a sports team. My cheeks flushed as multiple people were telling me at once where to stand because I wasn’t making enough space for the couples to move in their lines. I was almost tearing up and every part of me wanted to rip off my shoes and escape from the room. When I got home, I cried. 
This has been the toughest transition in my entire life. I do believe that some women are built for motherhood, I am not. You know those women who from their primary school years are obsessed with babies and go into adulthood with a vision of the family and the white picket fence? Then they pop out 3 under 4 and are oh so blessed and still fit into their pre baby jeans? My vision was more of the man, the high life, the travel, the career and the money. And all of the above was to be provided by yours truly.  Until I was 35 I didn’t think I wanted children. My now husband provided a sense of security that I had never experienced and so my vision shifted. Trust. Protection. Being provided for. All of this is what has led me to take this path instead of the other, The outcome? I struggle. I am happy with my family. Blessed as they say and I honestly do believe that my baby girl is some kind of miracle as she was both created and born with minimal stress or fuss. I am happy every day to have her, but it is  harder than I ever imagined and there are days where I really really grieve “me”. I haven’t quite found my feet yet a year and a half into the journey and there are so many days when I feel like an imposter – just like in dance class. In dance class I WAS the mum. I felt frumpy and there was an illogical part of me that wanted to be at home being a housewife, whatever that means these daysHaving a child isn’t just ‘becoming a mum’. It shifts the dynamic as an individual, a partner, a lover, a friend and a career woman. It’s tough. It’s wild. It’s glorious. It hurts. It changes you. Getting your ab’s back and fitting into those jeans is only the beginning.

Until next time…. Keep Dancing.

XO H.V.G.