Since I went public with this blog, just a few short days ago, I have found myself apologising a lot. “Oh sorry, it’s just a silly, cliched mummy blog, oh you won’t want to read about that, you don’t have kids, you’re a man, your kids are all grown up. Sorry, it’s not very exciting. Oh sorry, I wouldn’t waste your time reading that.”
Some of the apologising is probably down to feeling a little self conscious about people reading some of the thoughts I normally keep private. Understandable. But part of it is definitely because writing about being a mother seems like it just shouldn’t be that interesting to other people.
I wonder why that should be? Every single great, good, terrible and incredible person who has ever lived had a mother. Every single person has been raised somehow, and has been fundamentally shaped by the childhood that they experienced. I’m quite a fan of Desert Island Discs, the music is a bit irrelevant, and I often have never heard of the guests, but there is something inherently fascinating hearing somebody who has done great things with their lives talking about their past, their childhood, how they became the person that they are. Because every single one of us has had a childhood, and whether a hero or a villain in our own personal tale, for all of us our mothers have a lead role in that story.
It is something monumental that mothers do, to be there at the very first breath of a new life, the first sight of daylight, the first feeling of air on skin. To be able to shape another life in such a profound way, surely nothing could be so great, so important, so worthwhile.
Whilst the type of nappies my child wears is probably not going to be a crucial key in the ultimate outcome of the story of their life, the fact that as their mother I spend time thinking of these things, time loving and nurturing and wanting to do better for them, well that might be. And while I have no aspirations for my children to become the future world leaders, I do wish for them to learn to think for themselves, to find their own beliefs, and feel courageous enough to stand by them. I want them to question and challenge. I want them to know what love is and why it matters. Who knows where those things may get them in this world, and how that may impact on their fellow man.
So whilst their is more to life than nappies, motherhood is the crux of our lives on this planet, the very first breath of every story. Motherhood matters. Women’s voices matter. So maybe I’ll stop apologising quite so much about my silly, cliched mummy blog. Maybe.