My time belongs to someone else

Recently I came across two blog posts that were open and honest about how being a mum can sometimes be tough and tiring. I respected the authors more after reading them. I believe women should share their struggles and show each other that we are not alone. We should be open. There is no reason to hide.

The two posts were by Pia Jane Bijerk who I just discovered and was immediately drawn to and by Joanna Goddard who is essentially the reason why I write this blog of my own. You can find the posts I'm referring to here and here.

Last night I watched a British drama set in the 1950s in which a women gave birth to a premature baby. In the end it survived but it was 'touch and go' for awhile. I got very emotional thinking about how precious my little one is. I reminded myself that I would do anything for him, to protect him and make him happy.

But this morning, I was back in the real world. Today I had my once a week outdoor fitness class booked in. As always, my little man kicked up a fuss when he saw what I wearing and figured out where we are going. Usually he calms down once we've arrived and even has fun for most of the hour.

Today he wasn't having it though. As we got closer to the park where the training is, his crying got more intense. I wanted to be firm, I didn't want him to manipulate me. I wanted to give myself this 1 hour of exercise. We parked the car and I spent a little while trying to comfort him. All he wanted was to go home. I eventually decided I couldn't do it today. I wasn't feeling strong enough. I had to give in.

I shed a few tears as we drove away. I cannot make plans for myself anymore without the possibility that they might have to be broken. No time is truly my own anymore. When I first became a mum I was acutely aware of this fact every day. Now it tends to hit me in the face more rarely, but it still hurts when it does. Last night I was prepared to make any sacrifice for my son. I still am. But I can't help feeling sorry for myself when I do.