Now I know what it feels like.
The silence and the space and the ‘free time’ I used to dream of when you were a tiny newborn baby, now comes to me in spades.
Every second weekend as I shut the front door and wave goodbye to your soft little face – so excited as you drive away.
Your pyjamas are gone. Your room is empty. The toys you played with just hours before get packed up and tidied away.
Finally in their ‘rightful’ place where all the toys were supposed to go, in tidy rows on the shelves they were built for.
It’s the only time they ever sit there.
Waiting for you
Waiting, just like me, until you get back again.
Life on the weekends without you was so strange at first.
I thought I’d just ‘go back’ to the person I was before you were born.
But life is not the Matrix.
There’s no magic switch.
I have changed so much in becoming your mum, that on my days without you I have had to rediscover who I am.
Just like after you were born and I said goodbye to the woman I was before I was a mum.
The woman I am now is different
She’s fought a brave and heart-wrenching fight.
She’s watched her life crumble before her eyes and the man she loved more than anything become someone she doesn’t recognise.
And somewhere in the rubble of all of that, there is still you.
My perfect baby. The best thing that ever happened to me.
The days move slowly when you’re with your dad.
Time is my own again
Books are read. Meals are eaten. Friends are seen.
But it’s the quiet that has taught me the most.
In the long spaces between Friday and Sunday, silence has become an unexpected friend.
I never really understood how noisy life was with you – until you’re not there.
But in these silent rooms I’ve come to find a space that I’d forgotten.
A space for moments of silence, that when collected in a bundle appear to be a road map.
The map I didn’t ever think I’d ever need- signposted ‘new life starts here.’
A map I can’t wait to share with you, when you burst back through the door.
On Sunday night our ‘normal’ routine starts again
Your little arms and face and mindless chatter, reminding me of everything that’s important.
The best kind of love and all the reasons to keep moving forward.
And as you start to pull all the toys back off the shelves and the house comes to life again, I throw my arms around you.
“Thank you, my little one,” I whisper into your soft curly hair.
“It’s so great to have you home.”