My Mumbling Thoughts

I'm not a big fan of children. Really. I think somewhere along the way of me growing up, I lost that maternal feeling that most little girls have playing with their baby dolls and carting them around in those annoying plastic strollers. I mean yes, I think wee little babies are cute when they make those baby gurgling noises, and a part of me dies a bit every time I see tiny outfits because they're just so damn precious.

But as far as me having my own kiddies running around making those baby gurgling noises wearing those tiny outfits? Um, I don't think so. Thinking about squeezing a human being from my body not only turns my stomach with sickness, but actually makes me curl in physical pain just imagining laying with my legs spread wide for everyone and Jesus to see.

Saying all of that, though, I think I'd make a rockin' momma. I do tend to take on the "mother role" with my friends as well. When they're sick, I nurse them back to health making sure that they stay doped up on the best over-the-counter pills and cough syrups I can find. If a boy makes them cry, I hunt that boy down and will make sure he knows that he never deserved a second of my friend's time. I make big meals and feed my little ducklings. I clean the flat and there's a motherly tone in my voice when I tell them not to mess anything up that I've just tidied. Somewhere, deep inside of me, Momma Sam exists and she cradles her friends when they don't have enough strength (either emotionally or physically) to take care of themselves.

And I don't mind taking on that role from time to time. In fact, I kind of like it, and occasionally I get a small sense of pride that parent's must feel when they see their children grow and reach a milestone, no matter how big or small it is.

Trish would be my baby. She is my child, and I look out for her the most. I hounded her about getting an Oyster card, lectured her about how much money she would save if she got one and how they make your life so much more simple. I also hounded her about getting her national insurance number sorted. These are just things in life that people have to do in order to live in London. And the day she got both of these handy little cards, she called me just to say, Sam! Guess what I got? My national insurance number! And there I was sat in the bar clapping and squealing because my little baby sorted those things out. It was a relief, because I was constantly telling her for months to take care of those things, but I was also a proud momma.

Helen I consider to be my eldest girl. She's independent, she can take care of herself and doesn't need me for every day practical matters. But there are other things, boy things that I'm there for. Her ex-boyfriend (who was her first serious boyfriend) has been a plague (in my opinion) upon her for far too long. She has cried to me on many occasions about him, confides in me about how he makes her feel and the mind games he plays. This does not make me a happy momma. For the most part I keep out of their business, because I don't want to be one of those friends that gets in the middle of other people's relationships; but there are only so many times when you can have one of your best friends cry on your shoulder about the boy that causes her so much pain.

So I made sure that he knew and everyone else in the world, how much I despised him, how much I hated him, how I would find him and gut him like the spineless bastard that he is if he ever did anything to hurt my baby again.

And he knows. And he fears me. As he should.

When the summerball came round, I watched my babies get all dressed up in their nighttime dresses, took pictures for them and sent them out the door shouting and waving, "call me if you need anything! Be careful! And have fun!" I stayed at home and cleaned the entire flat and kept my phone close by if any of them called on me to come and get them, or if heaven forbid, anything bad had happened. I stayed up as late as I could, but still kept one ear open to hear the door when it opened and they dropped their shoes and bags on the floor.

Later on in the morning, my babies piled on my bed and filled me in on all of the details of the night. Trish sat at the foot of my bed and Helen curled up next to me under the covers. I listened as each of them told me the funny or random tales and stroked my Helen's head, bless her.

It's good to feel needed, to know that I have someone to take care of. Next year, when I have my wee freshers, I want it to be like that. I want our flat to be a family and for me to be there if they need help with anything. I want to watch them grow, and learn, challenge their minds about life, and develop into well-rounded people who are good human beings that are respectful and appreciate things. I want to be there when they're struggling with an essay that's due in, when a boy/girl makes them cry and be their strength when they have nothing left. I want us to be close knit, have each other's backs in a crisis and can have a laugh together.

And then I want to send them out in the world and hear about how well their flourishing on their own. My little ducklings. My freshers. My babies.

It almost makes me reconsider squeezing an infant from in between my thighs. Almost.