"Not counting the many thousands of words I spent complaining about being pregnant, I wrote my first column about my son, T, 18 years ago today, when he was three hours old. Someone said, Is there some kind of union you could join? Because I'm sure you're entitled to at least one whole day of maternity leave, and I was baffled. As far as I was concerned, they should have held the front page this wasn't work, this was a dispatch from the frontline"
"People always say to you, Treasure this time, it goes by in a flash, right at the moment you have an armful of toddler, puree in your hair and a mouth full of wet wipes because you ran out of hands which in retrospect was fortunate, because it meant you couldn't say the thing you would otherwise have said. But I'm not kidding around this time passed in a flash."
"Years 2012 through 2025, it wasn't really OK, since he could read it but he couldn't meaningfully consent. Even though I knew that, it didn't stop me, so I guess this next phase will be my apology years. There are mothers who will see themselves into their graves telling you you've had too many potatoes (like mine) There are a lot of things I now have to butt out of: it's none of my business whether he's vegetarian or how often he washes his hair"
A mother recalls her son T's birth and the bewilderment of new parenthood. She remembers being told she deserved maternity leave and feeling the birth was a front-page moment. She watched milestones arrive—talking, independence—while time compressed around toddlers, puree, wet wipes, and exhaustion. Common advice to treasure the early years contrasts with the rush she experienced. At eighteen the son becomes an adult and maternal boundaries shift; many parental concerns now feel intrusive. Past sharing when he could not meaningfully consent feels ethically fraught, and she anticipates apologizing for earlier disclosures while recognizing limits on interference.
Read at www.theguardian.com
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