Proud Mum To A Teenager!

Ben in my favourite sleepsuit! 

My first born, Benjamin James (Ben) is thirteen today!

When he was first born, I saw him as my miracle baby. I only had one Fallopian tube and had doubted whether I would get pregnant naturally. And I remember, after my long laborious labour (I should have taken that as a sign, he'd take his time entering this world, he'd take his time and be laid back about everything from then on in life) that I was grateful and happy to have a healthy baby boy - weighing a whopping 9lb 4oz. If I couldn't have any more, at least I'd been given the gift of at least one baby. And I know some don't even get that, so I was filled with joy.

One memory I have, while I was still in hospital, adjusting to motherhood and breastfeeding; I'd left him in the nursery - the only place you could leave the babies unattended - so I could shower. I came back to his cot to find him gone and a brief moment of panic hit me, fearing someone had stolen my boy. I turned around and midwife held him, showing another midwife/nurse on the ward my baby, saying, 'look how handsome this baby is.' My heart filled with so much pride. (He was incredibly handsome as a baby - but I thought I was biased as his mother).



As he grows older, you can see he's the spitting image of me. And now he has glasses, we are even more similar. Even though he drives me mad, because he is pretty much away with the fairies, in his laid back state, I love him more than words can truly describe. He is laid back, quietly confident, clever (Mathematician of The Year!) and fairly mature - when not bickering with his brother. And though he'll do things that make me cross, he does so much that makes me proud, too.





Not sure where he gets being so chilled out from. My dad (Granddad Ron) and I laugh about it quite regularly. It's certainly not from me. But he loves cake and chocolate - which he does get from me! I love that he loves reading! And I've recently got this boy into Red Dwarf. He is my buddy - when I don't have to be 'Mum' and nag him.

Happy 13th birthday, Ben. May you continue to grow into a great, wonderful, mature man.

Why Writing Keeps Me Sane

I suppose nobody really said being a mother would be easy, but you kind of assume it would be easier than it really is. To be honest, it feels like rather a thankless task.

Looking back, the sleepless nights, the breastfeeding, the nappy changing (and washing as I used real nappies) was a walk in the park compared to what comes next: Being ignored.

You'd think it got easier because now they can understand you, they're able to walk, talk, and do things for themselves...

If only.

I mean, nobody tells you that you will get sick of your own voice, that you'll get fed up with repeating yourself over and over, day after day, with the same things, that they know they need to do each morning, or whenever, but you still need to remind them... Or have to repeatedly ask them to do something, till eventually they do do it (if you're lucky). And that you can not fathom how two children could sit at the breakfast table, first thing in the morning AND BICKER!

I've now decided it probably doesn't matter what I say in front of my children, because they're never listening anyway... WRONG! The minute I say an expletive, oh, yeah, course they hear that!

Or as soon as I pick up the phone or talking to someone. They're either really really noisy or nosy, or start fighting or trying to talk to me. "Who is it? Who is it?"

The little fuckers!

Now it's summer, my neighbours probably think I'm mad, as they hear me, outside in the garden, hanging the washing out and swearing under my breath how sick I am of being ignored.

Or think I'm a fishwife the way I holler at my kids...

So, this is why I love my writing. I can get lost in it. I forget I am a mother. It reminds me I am an intelligent woman and I'm putting that intelligence to some good use. It makes me forget the nagging, horrible person I don't enjoy becoming. I really don't like her! But however much I try not to become her, I fail. It doesn't work...

With my writing I become Teresa F Morgan, author of contemporary romance, commercial women's fiction. I am heard... well, read.

Mean Mummy Moment

I feel a bit mean today.

I've sent my now 9-year-old off to school although he's not feeling 100%. It is only a cold... but he's got a little birthday bash tonight with three friends (that's all I can manage in this cosy house) coming over, and if I didn't send him into school, we'd have to cancel it.

And I slaved yesterday, making cakes, fizzy jellies, sorting out an Easter egg hunt (which I've now put around the house).

Why do these things always come when you've made plans? Plans that have been in the diary weeks!

To be honest, call me a mean, hard mummy, but it is only a cold, and he needs to learn life goes on.

They just don't warn you about the sickness, and the other 'joys' that come from having kids. I'm so glad mine don't get that ill very often, because I'm not a very patient mummy.