Someone else’s safe place
It’s taken me a while to get my head around the fact that I’m someone’s mum now. I think the effort and concentration required to keep her alive and thriving often distracts me from this fact. But I had an insight into my new role the other night when Bee woke up unusually around 9pm, screaming her little heart out. No amount of shushing or rocking could calm her, so I took her out of her room and into the warmth and light of the living room. A few final shuddering cries and then she looked around the room, leant against me and relaxed.
I had a flashback to my own childhood, when the rules against getting up once you’d gone to bed could be bent if something was truly distressing. Yes, there was partly the ilicit thrill of being in ‘adultland’ which only appeared when we went to bed, but how wonderful and safe it felt to be snuggled up with Mum and Dad who could make everything all right.
And now it’s our turn to be someone else’s safe place – and it feels even better than being in my own.