Once a Mother ...

This is going to get a bit sentimental, so if that is not your thing, please click away. Last weekend was my birthday, and my two children, both away at university, came home for it, which was lovely. It was great to catch up with them, and to hear that they are both doing well and being happy.

Then my son went back on Sunday evening, and my daughter on Monday afternoon. It had been gorgeous to see them both. And noisy and untidy! Now things are back to our new "normal", and the house seems so still and empty. Last night, my husband and I shared a quiet and peaceful evening, listening to Classic fm, he on his laptop, and I crocheting another square. And it was so Very Quiet. And part of me loves this, but part of me feels like I've had a limb lopped off. Being a Mum has been my default state for the last 23 or so years, and it is really difficult to get used to the fact that they've grown up and gone, and have their own lives to live. I've just been watching the first episode of the latest series of America's Next Top Model, which I've *always* shared with my daughter, and it felt so weird not to have her there.

I guess I'll get used to it in time. And I really am happy that they are building their own lives, and becoming independent. But once a mother, always a mother. I can now dimly understand why my own mother still cares if I get a cold, or am fed up about something. Being a parent changes you for life. But I wouldn't have missed it for the world.