Having fought for them…
Hang on, having dreamed of holding them….?
Having a heart full of love for my unborn babies for so many years – thank god a miracle came – I am so totally consumed with love.
Approaching the time that I thought would escape us, we are in the teenage years. My IVF twins are growing up.
So independent, I was determined beyond all inconceivabilities that I would be the coolest, most hip, engaging mum of teenagers. Everyone would want to come to our house and ‘hang out’. My meals would be the best. All the kids would want to eat here.
I mean, being the local taxi service for my kiddies, we listen to Kiss FM and other cool stuff. I’ve a cool car. And I drive cool.
Should the teenagers have problems with homework, they would all gather around my massive glass dining room table with books scattered between them to figure everything out. I’d bring snacks carefully arranged to look like they weren’t carefully arranged and fight to find somewhere to place them between the books. Expecting half a glance upwards with a quick, ‘thanks’ would allow me to do a quick half turn on the balls of my feet with a swish of the hair and a casual, “You’re welcome.”
This house is halfway there. Yes, there are always kids here. Always. My phone beeps often with:
“Can Chloe sleep tonight?”
“Can I sleep at Chloe’s tonight?’
“Can you give us a lift to the cinema tonight?”
“I would go to the cinema but I don’t have any money.”
“mum, did I wash your car last week for that £10 I had last saturday or do i still owe you?”
Expecting these days to come, I taught myself to be thankful. Thankful that I didn’t actually have the heart attack I was so scared I’d have when they were one year olds. Thankful that they are now independent; normal. I’m glad to live to see this happen. Although knowing they love me is one thing. Feeling it when I’m quite clearly a taxi service and piggy bank is quite something else.
I’d been so excited about taking this weekend off. We would go on an unprepared road trip. No map.
“But won’t we get lost mum?”
My daughter asked, concerned.
“Well if we do, we put our postcode in our iPhone and come home again.”
She relaxed.
Instead, she didn’t come home until I collected her at 7.15pm this evening from last nights sleepover. As for her twin brother, he had his friend here all day who is a totally well bred lad who always says thank you. He was bored. I offered to take him multiple places, all of which would be, ‘boring after 5 minutes.’
Even with his friend?
oh.
ok.
Beginning to feel slightly sensitive by this time, some total bitch wrote something nasty on Facebook. Why the heck do people do that stuff? Don’t even understand that. Envy? For my perfect life? Thank you. I worked hard for this and I’m going to allow you your envy while I still know there is enough good around for everyone.
Anyway, forget her, she’s just a bitch and I instantly corrected my settings to not see her in my news feed anymore. Fab. Sod off.
I cried.
My nose got blocked to the degree I couldn’t blow it and then… in walked my son.
“What’s up mum?” He was genuinely concerned.
“Nothing just someone on Facebook.”
“Oh ok, well we are going to the park.”
5 minutes later he text me.
‘Sorry I’m always with my friends.’
Ah crap, now he’s picking up on my ‘lonely’ energy status. Don’t want that. Pick yourself up girl. Clean the house. Turn the music up loads. Clean the house.
Move the furniture. Slip, cut your hand, cry some more.
“Bugger!!!!”
For God’s sake why am I feeling so low about seeing my children grow up? I mean, who else feels like this? Most Mums can’t wait for the school holidays to be over with. That’s never been me. I’m always at my best when I’m spending time with them. They are my life. They make my heart swell.
When everyone has gone and it’s just us, they love nothing better than snuggling up to me and watching tv with snacks. Paradise.
Love.
A mum.
I’m a mum. That means everything.
So tonight the boys are sleeping at the other house and I have the girls. Great. Maybe we can watch some TV together and eat.
I finally felt the meaning of there’s an elephant in the room.
So, here I sit, in my bed. Dog at my feet.
My truly amazing Las Vegas style bed. You know those ones which are pretty new out? Push a button right at the side of the bed and with just that one flick of your index finger out comes at TV slowly ascending from the foot of the bed. A flatscreen, I think about 19″ and granted we only have the freeview box plugged in but nevertheless, it’s TV.
Watching ‘The Voice’.
The Voice. Yes I remembered recently I forgot to keep singing. Quite happy to sit here watching The Voice, my laptop was calling me to write. As most authors do, I was watching, observing and mentally writing these words.
Cleo took to the stage. “I remember her from the 80’s.” I thought to myself with a question mark over the top of my head. Then they ran a VT confirming the 80’s video. Yeah, thought so. Wow she was more than awesome. Singing Michael Jackson. Blasting it. Even Cleo herself admitted, “Who can sing Michael Jackson?” She did.
Danny sat like a sponge, soaking up the notes and hearing the vibration of passion within the voices, seeing the performances with desperate eyes, searching for the next note, willing it out with speed. His head nods slowly, the dancer in me notices he’s ever so slightly off beat. Of course this doesn’t mean he can’t hold a beat. He’s a well respected musician. Of course he knows the beats. Yet, lost in the music, the rocking notion was almost like a self soothing type of thing.
Tom Jones was edited nicely to look like he was wiping away a tear. Obviously not.
Way too cool for that. Oozing sophistication. Hash tag respect.
Now, me watching Jesse J (beautiful Jessie J) I love her frowning face as she falls in love with each sound made by the talented voices. Just as you think, “They will never hit that high note..” Jesse frowns a little harder – no botox on her procerus muscle – and wills the artist to, in fact, not only hit the note but smash it with ease. What a talent considering the nerves too. If only I could sing like that. Never mind, singing still makes my blood pump faster and feeds my spirit who, incidentally is a bit of a party animal.
Jesse and Will.i.am give a sideways glance at each other and wordlessly know that the other is each thinking, “Wow.”
A silent Wow.
The corner of the eye can be a funny thing too… Just as Danny leans forward to look over to Jesse for one of those silent ‘Wow’s I’m sensing she just felt him. Nodding in agreement without her eyes leaving the performer for a split second.
Me, sitting here, just watching the telly. Can I ever ‘just watch the telly’ again without writing scenes in my head.
The author in me. Can I write Author with a capital? Feels right that way. Life experiences always coming into my creative head and wanting to share. Not sure to whom just yet. It’s a very recent announcement that I am indeed an Author and I’ve decided people will accept me that way.
‘Opening up’ as they call it in the coaching world. ‘Letting it in.’ It’s brought me to this amazing place where I sit and write. I hope it touches someone and they too can relate to my words. They are just words. From my heart to yours.
Meanwhile I listen to my beautiful daughter giggle downstairs with her friend who is on a slumber party night with her. She’s happy. My heart is mended.
My job here is done.
For today.
Lola Ismile 