MAY 2017 23
»“Max, sweet child of mine, this is a pretty
big year for us. You turn five. I turn 50.
One of those numbers FREAKS me out.
So does the other one. Both serve to
make me feel two things at the same
time: very old, and very young. And in
many ways that sentence perfectly
encapsulates how I feel about being
your mother.
First things first, know this: all babies
are tiny little miracles. But when it’s your
own(ie,YOU)it’sevenmoremiraculous.
I was a ridiculously ancient 45 years
of age when I gave birth to you and to
call you ‘unexpected’ is a woeful
understatement. Nine months
previously I had been secure in the
knowledge that particular ship had
sailed. But along came your beautiful
father, and that ship didn’t just pull a full
screaming 180 degree u-turn, it sailed
right into my ovaries, detouring via the
womb and then onwards into my heart,
dropping anchor and taking up
permanent mooring.
None of that will make much sense to
you right now; you’re only four years old
after all. And when you happen across a
copy of this wonderful magazine in a
decade or two and read this, it will simplymake you squirm with awkward
embarrassment (a feeling you’ll have to
get used to, I’m afraid; I am potentially
one of the most embarrassing mothers
EVER). But I tell it to illustrate this one
irrefutable fact: you were, quite simply,
the most astonishing little human I have
ever clapped eyes on and you have
grown more and more astonishing each
and every day since. You changed my life
for ever with that first single heartbeat, in
ways I could never have imagined.
SohereIsit,tuckedupinbedlateat
night, breaking our cardinal house rule of
No Devices In The Bedroom, quietly
tapping away on my laptop in the dark,
stealing little glances at you peacefully
slumbering beside me in your favourite
Star Wars jarmies (or are they really my
favourite?) and marvelling at the
phenomenal roller coaster of extreme
emotions these past five years have been.
That first insane year of your life was
a lesson in abject exhaustion, despair
and unholy self-flagellation. Wracked
by sleeplessness, self-doubt and an
all-encompassing sense of inadequacy,
it was terrifying, humbling and the most
incredible year of my life, as amidst that
maelstrom of worry was a love soconsuming it
took my
breath away
and continues
to do so still.
Yo u s e e m y
child, I’d never
imagined I could
grow a little human
inside me and then continue
to grow you outside of me. A gazillion
women right now and throughout
history have done it of course, this is
hardly a one-off. I just never expected I’d
be one of them. I would look into your
tiny little face in the depths of the night
as I desperately tried to feed you, calm
you, settle you, your face covered in my
fallen tears. You would gaze up at me
and in that moment save my life with a
gentle smile, somehow reassuring me
that everything was going to be all right
and I’d get the hang of this motherhood
thing really, really soon.
I’m still working on it of course, the
Motherhood Thing. Every moment of
every day in fact. I no longer burst into
tears when I drop you at daycare (in
fairness, you never look back as you
happily gallop inside to play with yourKate Rodger for her son Max, 4
from Mum
A letter
Three well-known Kiwi women write heartfelt open letters to their children,
reflecting on what they’ve loved and learnt about being a mum.[Mother’s Day]
PHOTOGRAPHY●HELEN BANKERS STYLING●SONIA GREENSLADE