There have been many times in the past few weeks where I have intended to come and write here. But then Percy cried, or clouds threatened and the washing needed to be brought in, or I finally got a chance to pour the boiled water into the tea cup after two failed attempts.
Mothering three children is just as busy as I thought it would be. The washing pile is confronting and the dishes are monotonous. Every day there is an unsettled baby, squabbling siblings and a long list of chores that beg for my attention. Whilst I once harboured a strong fear about this, now that I'm here I see it as just a necessary part of the story.
Percy, like all newborns, is a time-consuming being; small and needy, he is both helpless and intriguing. With his cry or his gaze, he pulls me into his vicinity and holds me there; I inevitably melt. Such is the bond between mother and baby. He is six weeks old now and whilst it has gone fast, I don't feel like I've missed out on anything. I have purposely savoured it; a lesson learned from past experience.
What I didn't expect from Percy's arrival, is the strong desire to sit and cuddle him without needing to document and share the moment. There have been countless times over the past few weeks where I have been breastfeeding and simultaneously scrolling on my phone. And yet there's been an underlying sense that I was missing out on my own mothering experience whilst checking up on the life of others'. Now that autumn has arrived with a vengeance, I've claimed my official breastfeeding posy on the couch and I watch the flames of the fire whilst feeding Percy, who is contently wrapped in layers of wool. I want to be here, in the warmth and the connection, instead of placing a phone in the middle. And I want Percy to see my face whilst he feeds instead of averting his gaze to a small black apple icon.
So that's where I am, in the mushy goodness of mothering, not really phased whether I document every moment or not. And truth be told, it's taken a category 2 cyclone and its accompanying 36 hour storm to provide the space to sit here and write; fireside, with a woollen-clad babe in my arms.
The newborn pace is slow and this time 'round I've opted to go with it instead of hurrying it along.