Three Years On: What it Means to be a Mother

Geez! My baby is three today.  I know we all say it, but my how time flies!

Those blurry hours of babyhood feel like only yesterday.

And here I am today, holding her slightly-larger hand as she chats, and sings, and counts, and always questions, ‘Why?’

We began today in a very special way: My mother arrived at Heathrow at (ahem!) 6:35 this morning.

With three generations together,  I’ve spent some time being grateful for the immense gift that is being a mother:


Little hands. Little feet.

No time to eat and lack of sleep.  

Stinky things and surprising things.  

Who knew it happened this way?


I think I’m smart, or used to be.  

But opening the pushchair defeats me! 

Can I do this? Yes I can.  

I laugh before I cry.  And then I laugh again. 


Her smiles and her cuddles. 

Her questions and her tears.  

Her challenges, her sunshine smell, her very peaceful sleep:

Little treasures in a trail.   


Joyous times.  Painful times.

I-wouldn’t-trade-this-for-the world times.

Unexpected, these three years have changed me.

And oh, they have AGED me!

But most of all, they have blessed me in so very many ways

with love.  


Happy Birthday Phoebe!