One day you are holding a new born baby in your arms and someone older and wise will say, "Make the most of it. They grow up so fast." Believe me, they will always say that. And you wonder what the hell they mean when every single night of sleeplessness and screaming stretches into eternity and you pace the floor, mumbling the mantra this has to stop some time, this has to stop some time.
Then, only moments later, you are having a morning of decadent laziness and it dawns on you, it's your baby's last day of school. Ever. And you wonder where the years went. There is a whole pack of them you can't quite recall.
Your memories seem to crystalise at a point about 10 years ago - with images of a cheeky, stubborn, iron-willed boy perpetually in a fireman's helmet and pyjamas making you breakfast in bed with inch-thick vegemite on toast.
Once you worried that you weren't a "real" mother like all the others, that you were pretending like playing "house" as a child. You thought that one day it would all snap into place, this motherhood thing, and you'd have it figured out. It never happened. You can't remember ever feeling like a mother, just a friend, or an enemy or an ATM machine at times. Never like a Mother.
As a wise man once said:
In an mmm bop they're gone.
In an mmm bop they're not there.