Every single day so far this year – minus last week – has been about getting to grips with a new way of life.
It’s been about balancing on the edge of a cliff face, determined not to fall off. It’s been about struggling to maintain a sense of calm while a million things on my “to do” list whizz through my head.
It’s been about trying to be the best mum I can possibly be, while being the best radio presenter I can possibly be, while being the best copywriter I can possibly be, while being the best blogger I can possibly be, while being the best feature writer I can possibly be. And still remain some sort of wife to my husband.
In short, it’s been about survival against the ravages of tiredness and stress, for happiness to reign supreme.
But it’s not been about staying alive.
That’s what I tell myself every time I want to moan. Every morning when the alarm screeches into my dreams at 3.45am and I unglue my eyelids, I remind myself I am alive. I am happy. I am loved. I love.
My health, my child’s health and my husband’s health is, thankfully, intact. My sister is healthy, as is my father, mother and every other member of my extended family.
Every afternoon, when the toddler’s mood darkens and the storm clouds of rage threaten to break into an almighty tantrum, I remind myself I am lucky. I am alive. Happy. Loved. Love.
To be alive, healthy, happy. To love and be loved. Surely it’s all anyone can wish of their life?
This post is written as part of the #dosomethingyummy campaign from CLIC Sargent, to raise awareness of Yummy Mummy Week on 10th to 18th March 2012.
You can show your support by taking part in the writing prompt over at I Am Typecast and sharing these posts on Facebook and Twitter.