What is it like to be a mother?

Trying to explain to someone what it’s like to be a mother is a bit like explaining what the Senate does. I mean, you think you know, until you try and put it into words and then you realise you kind of just need to be in the Senate to really understand what’s going on.

But I’m going to try and explain motherhood. For anyone who has wondered or anyone who’s thinking of having kids or anyone who has ever tried to explain it to their friends – here is what I’d say:

Close your eyes and imagine this…

Firstly, I’m going to creep into your room at night and just as you’re drifting off to sleep, I’m going to fly across the room and land with my knees right in your guts. Why, hello!

When you’ve calmed down, I’ll walk away so you can go back to sleep. And juuuust as you start to drift off again, I’m going to matrix hover out of nowhere and body slam you again. We’ll play this fun game repeatedly until 6am when I will force you to get out of bed even though you’ve had a total of 19 minutes sleep.

For your first task of the day, I’m going to need you to cook me a soufflé. A perfect, delicious soufflé. No, you don’t get instructions or a recipe, you’ll need to figure it out yourself.

While you’re doing that, I’m going to hand you the phone because your best friend is having a really hard time lately and she needs to tell you all about it in vivid detail for the next two hours. BUT DON’T NEGLECT THE SOUFFLÉ!

Oh, you also need to do your taxes immediately or you’re going to cop a fine, so get cracking. I’ll just pop a rag under your foot so you can scrub the floor while you’re doing all of this.

Whoops, I’ve just sliced my arm open, so you’re now going to stitch me up. No, I don’t have sutures or any clue how to do this so you’re going to need to improvise. YES I KNOW YOU ARE TIRED.

How’s the soufflé? Is your friend ok? Have you finished your taxes? The floor still looks dirty. And I’m bleeding to death.

Oh looky here, two homeless people have wandered in and are now brawling in your lounge room. Yes, you need to deal with that too.

While you’re refereeing that shitshow, I’m just going to pop this baby koala on your leg and let her latch on with her claws, deeeep in your thigh. And while I’m here, I’m going to put an octopus on your back. A furious octopus. Make sure you don’t burn his tentacles on the stove top, thanks.

Have you checked the soufflé? I said, HAVE YOU CHECKED THE SOUFFLÉ? Sorry, you probably can’t hear me because I’ve just switched on a delightful death metal album at max volume. That’s going to stay on for eternity. Hope you don’t mind.

And haha, NO you’re not going to get a thanks for any of this. Idiot.

You look a bit flustered, darl, but while you’re here, I’m just going to take a quick photo of you and put it on social media so everyone can tell you what a shit job you’re doing and how poorly that octopus looks.

Don’t worry, I’ll give you a toilet break. But just so you know, there’s a webcam in the toilet and it’s being streamed live to the world. Enjoy!

How’s that soufflé? Done? Ugh, it’s gross, I’m throwing it straight on the floor. Better luck tomorrow. Because, yes, you need to do it all tomorrow. And then every other day. Forever.

Now what if I told you you’re going to love this? Strangely, bizarrely, counter intuitively, you’ll love it. And hate it. But you’ll really want to do it and you’ll want to do it well.

You might also want to run away. But not really because you wouldn’t want to be anywhere else. And yes, your brain will feel this conflicted all the time. Get used to it.

That’s a little bit what it’s like. Sort of. But more hectic. And more fun. And more exhausting. Pass the wine.

What do you think? Am I close? Almost? 

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