Nope! I’m hurtling towards my 32nd birthday and I still am no closer to having it all figured out. But maybe that’s ok? I may gaze in bewilderment at the freshly manicured mums at the school drop off who are always on time and always organised and think “how do they do it?”
I usually only get a quick glimpse of these “real adult” mothers as I’m rushing towards the school, clutching my sprinting 2 year old’s hand, whilst simultaneously shouting to the boys to keep up.
Man, I hate mornings.
But, as I said, perhaps it’s ok. Maybe we’re all just winging it. No one knows what goes on behind closed doors and nobody actually lives the perfect lives they depict on Facebook (do they?!)
I may be scatty, forgetful and messy. I may have hit 30 without having a bolt-of-lightning style epiphany. I may still feel like an imposter, posing as a responsible adult. But when it’s time to pick the boys back up from school, I find I’m no longer looking at the other mums. I’m not comparing myself to them and finding myself wanting. I’m watching my daughter run to her brothers in glee because she’s missed them while they’ve been at school. I’m watching two scruffy haired little boys bound out of school, eager to tell me about their day. I’m watching my super sensitive 5 year old wrap his arms around my legs and tell me he’s missed me.
And it’s in those moments I realise…the other stuff doesn’t matter. No one could love those little chimps more than me. And to them, I’m enough.
And isn’t that what really matters?