One Moment in Time

Hindsight can be a cruel, enslaving taskmaster. The battle to be free of it's clutches is a tough one.

I very rarely watch the tv anymore. Not because I'm an earth mother with better things to do with my time, but mostly because I don't get much of a look in and I'd rather read my book. When I do watch it, it shocks me with it's in your face reality. Last night was one of those moments. I happened to come across a programme on pregnancy and birth and it brought back my own extremely vivid memories. Awash with emotion, I watched these ladies meeting their babies for the first time. Loving them unconditionally, cuddling them, stroking their faces, unaware of who their little ones may grow into but overwhelmed with the responsibility of bringing up their child.

Part of me yearned for those days again. Those simple days of nappy changing, feeding, cuddling and pacing up and down at night. The more rational part of me remembers those days with anguish. I don't want another baby. I don't want to start all over again. I just want to do it over again but get it right this time. I didn't cuddle my babies enough. I didn't lavish enough love on their little frames. I didn't make the most of that short, fleeting moment of utter dependence on their mummy. I didn't treasure the moment. I was too focused on helping them to be independent to realise that at that moment in time, they needed me. I was face forward, eyes set on survival. And we did survive.

It made me wonder if, in 10 or 15 years time, will I look back at this time with my boys and wish I could do it all over again too? What can I change now to prevent regrets? If I knew, when they were babies, that they wouldn't cuddle me forever then I would have spent so much more time with them in my arms, languishing in the softness of their skin against mine. What is it that I need to do now? Play with them more? Live in the moment more? Treasure each and every stage, however tough it is? Forget about the mess and noise and just enjoy them?

One day my house will be tidy and quiet. I'll have access to the tv again. I won't have little voices shouting, giggling, arguing, crying, hollering, laughing all over my house. I won't have smooth skin to stroke or little hands to hold. I won't have funny little pictures hastily scribbled and presented to me as priceless works of art. Somehow I need to treasure this moment because that's all it is. A moment.