A mother’s uncertainty

It’s cliché; I love my daughters.

I love Zara’s fiery, curly red hair and her defiant temperament.

I love Lily’s clinginess (mostly) and her tight and squishy cuddles.

There were times when being a mum was hard.

It wasn’t the sleepless nights,

It was the . j o l t i n g . lack of freedom, it was the weight of mum, which replaced my essence.

mum gradually blanketed the old me.

And under that blanket (not cocooned and safe), I lay down questioning, critiquing, criticising,

Am I doing it right?

Am I good enough?

Especially when others found it so much easier than me.

Especially when others were doing it so much better than me.

It’s cliché; I love my daughters.

Am I truly enough?

Is my unconditional love enough?

That’s all I have.

If not…