Guilty as charged

By Mareka Stake, Lovers & Fighters

Dear Little Ones

You’re the loves of my life. You’re what I consider to be my greatest ever creative products. You bring joy and smiles and laughter and mess and wonder and discovery and so much more. And yet there’s a weight, a great heavy weight. You hang around my neck, weighing over my heart like one of Flava Flav’s oversized pieces, and putting pressure on my ageing back. And I want to hug you, all the time, but I also just want you to get off that back. And get out of my way.

This is the guilt of working creative motherhood. I’m not made to stay home with you. I just couldn’t sing the Wheels on the Bus one more time (thank goodness you quickly hated that song too). I need work to express myself, to have opinions, to have conversations that don’t involve pretending to be an obscure cartoon character. I need to open a window and not have your little fingers close it because you’re fiddling with the keyboard. I need a little space to still call my own in my world that you transformed.

I will wear you close to my heart, always. No doubt about that. But sometimes I just have to take you off and lay you on the bedside table for a little while. Or lend your sparkle to someone else to enjoy. And while it doesn’t get easier, I’m just getting used to wearing the guilt that came with you as a free gift when I brought you home.

Mama