It's Sunday morning and I am writing this in my local Costa. I've written before about what a struggle weekends are, but today, here, surrounded by young families enjoying brunch together and talking about what they are going to do for the rest of the day, it has really hit home.
Earlier, I wanted to go for a walk by the Thames with my son. He didn't want to. He wanted to do something on the computer with his dad before they went off for a swim.
I ended up feeling like a spare part. Sure, I could have insisted he came out with me, but what would be the enjoyment in that? I relish our walks by the river together; it's bonding time, where we can talk about things, feed ducks, watch boats. But it only works if we both want to do it. If he would rather be at home doing some exciting IT project with his dad, then it's no fun for either of us; he sulks and I get irritable that he is isn't talking to me or participating in our time together.
The worse part though, as I sit here mulling his spurning of me, surrounded by laughing, squealing, happy families, is the horrid realisation that I am never going to have this stage of mummyhood again. Circumstances dictate that I am not going to get a second go at being a mum of a young child. I'm not going to have that duck feeding, boat watching time again. And that hurts.
What do you think?
When did you realise that there was no going back? That your days of happy families were gone for good?