The thing about being a woman
is that you will always be bombarded
with rows of fashion and beauty items
the marketers will want you to own,
you are spoiled for choice
and while that isn’t in any way a catastrophe,
you will soon realize that the outfits you choose
may come with labels you weren’t prepared to hear -
somedays you’re Superwoman,
somedays you’re a villain.
They will expect you to slay dragons,
except that you won’t,
you walk around with your hands in
I didn’t always enjoy motherhood as much as I do this way, under the sun. As I plant my smile somewhere in between my children’s cartwheeling shadows on the sunlit grass today, I am brought back to six years ago when motherhood first greeted me like a rush of huge waves; beautiful in pictures but surprisingly rough.
I remember mourning what felt like a loss of freedom somewhere three weeks into the journey of mothering a newborn. I remember wondering why I didn’t instantly
Motherhood, as it turned out, isn’t as straightforward as looking into
while bearing a sparkle in mine
while cradling you with a familiar lullaby
as I rest my cheeks against this warm headrest on the family’s old rocking chair.
No, it isn’t as straightforward as that,
and in fact, there are no rocking chairs.
With you, I am somewhere in between
being obsessed with routines
and reminding myself to
embrace this mess.
I am “go to bed by eight”
We are always pedalling our way into sunsets these days. And if we’re not, we are either chasing each other, or our dreams.
I love the way these little journeys remind us of our bigger journeys. Of how some moments leave us pedalling uphill in sweaty foreheads and shortness of breaths. And how some others leave us sliding downhill in giggly shrieks and fits of laughter. Of how it’s wonderful to have several (or more) stops along the way to simply enjoy the view, even if it’
There are days when I would run out of words to say
because poetry would have cartwheeled its way
in between our sweaty palms
as we rush down our favourite sunlit fields
in fits of laughter
hand in hand,
or in between your tangled curly hair I couldn’t braid in between rushed morning school runs,
or in between imaginary enchanted forests we’d play hopscotch for hours before sunset,
or in between the same comfort of sunlight we’d chase each day
but never get enough