To The Thirtysomething Moms

Dear fellow thirtysomething mum,

I see you in the supermarket, I see you at the playground. I see you at the school drop-off, I see you on the train and in the kid-friendly restaurants. Sometimes you see me too, and we exchange a little smile, an eye-roll, an “I get it” moment. More often you don’t see me – you are chasing your toddler down the aisles, watching your pre-schooler like a hawk as she climbs higher than you’d like, admonishing your kid for pinching her brother, reaching for a wet wipe, mopping up a spilled drink.

A few days ago I was at our public swimming pool, and if ever there was a stark metaphor for life as a mum in her 30s, the public swimming pool has to be it. There we all are – the stereotypes we swore we never would be – wading knee-deep in the kiddies’ pool, eyes locked on our littles – and genuinely delighted by their antics. Although we may be there in pairs or groups, our conversations are piecemeal, we cannot relax. Our focus is entirely on our children. We are tired. We are distracted. Our tankini-clad bodies are battle-scarred and utterly not what they used to be. 

Up on the hill are the shiny twentysomethings. They are flipping through magazines, chatting to their friends, Facebooking and selfie-snapping on their iPhones. They are rested. They are toned. They are magnificently oblivious to what is coming their way in the future. They don’t even see us. Or if they do, they swear they will never be us.

It’s okay. We were there once, and we know better than to be offended.

You see, the truth is, we thirtysomethings have let ourselves go. No. We have let our SELVES go. We have small children and for the next little while, our SELVES will not come first. We will be sleeping (or not) according to the timetables of our toddlers and/or newborns and/or a combination of the above. Our hair will not be washed as often as we’d like. Sit-ups? What sit-ups? We will be wiping noses and bottoms and messes from the walls. We will be cooking what feels like continuously from breakfast to supper time and not leaving the table until at least a forkful of peas have been eaten. We will spend hours a week kneeling by the side of the bath and then reading “just one more” bedtime story until we pass out on the edge of the toddler bed. We will be fluent in the language of Paw Patrol, Sofia the First, Peppa Peg and Doc McStuffins, and will use said characters shamelessly as threats, bribes, or as digital babysitters so we can dash upstairs to grab a shower. We will find ourselves negotiating with terrorists even though we swore we never would. We will answer to “Uppy” and “More” and “I don’t want to”, and we will say “What’s the magic word?” more times a day than we ever imagined possible. This is thirtysomething. It’s not easy – and that’s the truth.

But there is another truth. Up there on the hill, nestled subtly amongst the twentysomethings, are the fortysomethings. They too are rested. They too are toned. They are alone, quietly reading a book. They see us, and they are sympathetic but also a bit smug. They’ve been there and done it and they know it doesn’t last forever. Girls, fortysomething is the holy grail. Fortysomething is coming.

The decade we get our SELVES back.

Not that I want to wish away the time. Although thirtysomething so far is a bit of a blur, it’s also a kind of magic. Never again will I feel a squidgy cheek rest on my chest in the middle of the night. Little arms reaching up to me after a fall. The delicious baby smell and the little pairs of skinny jeans and sparkly trainers. The scooter rides and monkey bars and the bed time stories with a small person in the crook of each arm. Hearing “I want Mummy,” and “Please can you help me?” and “I want to huggle you.”

Yes, fortysomething is coming, and it’s going to be bliss. But don’t let it come too fast. If I’m to lose my self for a decade, motherhood sure is a delicious thing to lose it to.

Love, Catherine

This was originally published on Littles, Love, & Sunshine. 

About the writer

Catherine’s a wife, tea drinker, stay-at-home-mum to two girls, and blogger behind Littles Love and Sunshine. Right now, home is beautiful Switzerland, but she counts herself lucky to have lived in Cape Town, London, the Isle of Man, and now Nyon – a beautiful medieval town outside Geneva – so she supposes that officially makes her an expat. She’s left a piece of her heart in every place she’s called home and learned a lot about herself with every move.

In a past life, words were how she made her living. She started her career in book publishing and then moved on to magazine journalism, where she worked with the ad team before becoming the resident “how to” girl, Features Writer and Digital Editor at Shape South Africa, a women’s health and lifestyle magazine. She can confidently say that for a twenty-something girl in love with writing and shoes, there was no better job in the world – she worked with incredible, powerful women, got to tell inspirational stories, traveled, and shared a desk space with the fashion editor – so that was pretty much all her dreams come true right there.

A few years later, she talked her eventually-to-be husband into moving to London, as it had always been her dream to live and work there. She fell head over heels in love with the most exciting town on earth, took a corporate gig in The City and continued her love affair with footwear.

Fast-forward to now… one husband, two baby girls and three homes later, more often than not her days are a treadmill of busy nothings punctuated by the beautiful surprises of motherhood.

You can follow Catherine on Facebook: Littles, Love & Sunshine and on Instagram: @littlesloveandsunshine.

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