Recently when we have been driving somewhere, I find myself glancing at my eldest in the rear-view mirror. Watching his reaction when I play one of my favourite songs, seeing him enjoying it, noticing how much older he looks, catching his eye and smiling at him. There is something quite magical about seeing your child enjoy a song you used to listen to 20 years ago.

I’m noticing that as we meander out of the early years of parenting and into to middle bit of childhood, Parenthood definitely feels different. It feels like we have hit a bit of a sweet spot with the ages they currently are at. The last 6 years have been a constant up and down of emotions. Swinging between days when I was so low I thought I should call the doctor, but never did. And days when I was so happy I thought my husband had spiked my morning tea with Prozac. But recently there is just a general, steady flowing, loveliness.

It’s lovely, being their Mum. My evolution as a Mother has been the most beautiful and most painful time of my life. I no longer worry about what other parents think of me or how I parent. I no longer fear the playground. I happily and consistently attend toddler classes and enjoy them. I do occasionally still use going to the supermarket at 4pm as a to way to kill time before teatime though.

But this is the best life. And it’s still the hardest too.

It’s sweet and it’s sour. It’s joyful and depressing. It’s exhausting and it’s exhilarating. Fulfilling, but also in a way that wreaks havoc on your mental health. The frustration of refused naps and refused meals would leave me in tears. The lack of me time. Wanting the me time and immediately wanting him back when I got it. The feeling I had totally lost touch with who I was anymore, what I even wanted from life or enjoyed.

The complex navigation of family members, some wanting to be a huge part of your life and others not really interested at all. I wanted everyone to love my child as much as I did and at the same time leave us alone to our little precious world.

I became obsessed with proving I could be the best at this. That you would turn out this perfect little being. What the fuck is perfect and even normal? I am so far from both of those things, most of the time.

Yet despite my anxiety and neurosis of trying to ensure you are well balanced and happy, you have turned out to be all of these things, on your own, without my needy interventions of constant fun, cuddles and kisses. Have I smothered you? I think I do smother you a bit at the school gate. I find myself actually saying ‘give me kiss darling’ when saying good bye to you. You reluctantly obey, because you are so sweet. And then I hover, dancing from one foot to the other whilst you walk in, calling out after you ‘I love you Ed! Have a great day!’. You never look back. I don’t see many other parents behaving like me. Is there something wrong with me?

I never want to disappoint you, I always want to please you and make you smile and make you feel happy and excited and make EVERY damn day of your exquisite and short life so far THE BEST. But I know can’t. Because so much of life is out of my control. So we carry on. We make the nice breakfasts, we play your favourite song, we let you watch that extra episode of something even though we might be late for school. You get the extra gingerbread man or the kinder egg. You play, you draw, you sing, you dance, you scoot around, you swim and you live your imperfect life with perfect poise and dignity. You feel things, you cry, you shout, you get angry, you say sorry, you hold your bothers hand, you draw beautiful things, and you tell the best jokes.

This has largely been our journey, the every day week days. So much of US. These more recent months have somehow felt less like us. Less like the old days. We are in new territory now where my most poignant memories of you are the age Rex is now. I’m doing it all again with Rex. I miss US sometimes. The intensity of our constant time together was hard but I miss it more than anything now.

But we are both still here, together, and it may feel different than it used to sometimes, but it’s still the loveliest of lives, sharing this crazy train with you my boy.

It really is so lovely, being your Mum.