I recently stumbled across a news article slamming mum blogs for painting a picture of motherhood as torture. 

Sleepless nights. No social life. Messy house. Greasy hair. Cheese on toast every night for dinner. 

It said that the new generation of mothers were feeling sorry for themselves as they’d lost the life they once had. They’d changed. Never to return. 

Mothers-to-be were being scared off procreating for fear of losing themselves under an insurmountable pile of washing. 

There was no one  talking about how much they enjoyed being a mum. How lucky they felt to have given birth to a fresh, new life. 

The author of the news story counteracted his bagging of negative mum bloggers with a book he found called ‘Mother Zen’ by Jacinta Tynan. (I’ll have to find it and have a read!)

He found her to be a ‘breath of fresh air’. She recounted the motherhood experience as one of joy, excitement and a blessing. 

Motherhood does entail tough days, and I feel it important to write about these. It wouldn’t be an honest account if it were only about laughing rainbow unicorns who fart glitter. 

But the happiness, joy and love that comes with being a mum shines through. 

Being mum is a mix of snot, cuddles, wee, laughter, tears, poop and amazement. (Sometimes this amazement is focused on how the hell that much poo fits inside that tiny body!)

But the way your heart feels like it is so full that it surely can’t fit inside your chest is a feeling I cherish. 

I find myself staring at my children. At their perfectly formed ears and fingers. At the miracle that it a child. My child. 

There are so many factors which have to be in place for a child to be conceived, let along grow for nine months and then be born healthy. 

That whole process in itself is a miracle. 

These little people have their very own personality and will soon go off and make their own decisions about their own life. 

When they look at me  I feel the full weight of love, joy and responsibility as their mummy. The love between a mother and a child is palpable. I feel that invisible umbilical cord still to be there. 

Perhaps that invisible cord will always be there? The link between myself and my children, whether they are sitting on my lap watching Peppa Pig, or sitting in a cafe in Venice sipping on a glass of rosé. 

Ever since I can remember I’ve always wanted to be a mother. I was born to do it. I look forward to the future with excitement at the adventures our not so little family will have. 

Yes the baby days are long, messy and emotional. My mum tells me to enjoy this time as before too long it’s all gone and all you have left are the memories. 

So I’m consciously drinking in the chubby thighs of my baby, the hilarious comments of my soon to be four year old, the wiseness of my six year old and the sweetness of my eight year old. 

We only get one shot at this motherhood thing. There’s no point whingeing and whining the whole way through. What a waste.  

Children are a blessing. Ask anyone trying to conceive. 

I do not take them for granted. I do not take my fertility for granted. I take my role at their mother seriously and I bloody love it.