The Wordsmythe's Weblog…

…On Words, Love and Life

They call me Mummy

Throbbing feet. Languid, aching bones. I feel the start of a headache coming on. But I won’t stop until it’s all done. The cooking. The cleaning. The picking up and putting away of little clothes, shoes, toys and books. The laundry. And all the other chores that make the home appear to run seamlessly.

Wincing in pain, I reach into the medicine cupboard and pop two analgesics into my mouth. I’m exhausted beyond words. I long for my bed. Or even a sofa. And a stool to prop my feet up and take a load off. Downtime. I’m almost there. The light at the end of tunnel is getting brighter. Just a couple more chores.

Super mumI stand back and survey the works of my hands. I take in the clean kitchen, tidy living room, bedrooms with made beds and everything in its place. Finally. I’m done. Dear sofa, here I come. As I make to lower myself into the waiting arms of the sofa and the stool sends my feet a ‘come hither’ look, “Mummy, please can we go to the park?”

Two tiny voices. Two earnest facial expressions. Doe-eyed, hopeful, expectant, barely concealed anticipation. “Please, Mama, we really, really, really want to.” One with hands clasped, the other tugs on my skirt. “We’ll be good, we promise. Please.”

I look at my sofa. With longing. I turn to the boys. They look at me. With longing. My aching bones creak in protest. My throbbing feet feel like my heart has relocated from my rib cage and made its new home there. That onset of a headache is now a full-blown splitting one. Everything in me is kicking against considering this request, much less granting it. On the tip of my tongue are a thousand and one reasons to say no. I quash them.

“Ok but we won’t stay very long…” Their screams of joy drown out the rest of my words. ‘I’m tired’ doesn’t get heard much less acknowledged. They are already putting on their shoes and arming themselves with all the paraphernalia that make for a successful park outing. Footballs, frisbees and food. Now dancing at the front door, giggling in excitement, waiting to be let out.

I look at the sofa again. Its forlorn gaze meets mine. But it understands. I am a mum. And this is what mums do. Tired is nothing when you have children.

At the lakes



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14 thoughts on “They call me Mummy

  1. Oh Nkem! I sooooo feel you! I love that line ‘tired is nothing when you have children’

  2. Lovely lovely lovely. Shared on face book and twitter. The rewards are immense no?

    • Thank you, Pearl, I really appreciate it. Oh, the rewards are innumerable! They come in many guises but are no less heartwarming; from sloppy kisses to squeezy hugs and being told they love you, from compliments from others about their good manners and politeness to the moments when you share a joke that others just don’t get. The rewards are many and I am privileged to be called mummy.

  3. I really enjoyed reading this post. I have a young son and can relate to all you’ve written. I particularly enjoyed the last two paragraphs; the last phrase being the most poignant reminder that parenthood is not just a walk in park. Have a lovely day.

  4. Beautifully written.

  5. Yeah, while it’s encouraging and beautiful, they need you alive. That’s what the back garden is for. *Hello sofa!*
    We go tomorrow, okay, with ice cream and hot dogs.

  6. This is just lovely, I can just picture the children. But raising Children, nothing beats it!

  7. ONYEBUCHI I. EKWE on said:

    Hmmm . . . Much as I admire your motherly sacrifices, your story makes me thank God once more that I’m not a mum. Such unremitting love and patience can only come from a mother. By the way, have you thought of getting a maid to help the the chores.

  8. Joshua on said:

    Waoh, God put angels in every home and called them mothers….and you write so well dearie, thank you

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