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Becoming a mother is like suddenly becoming a secondary character in the novel of your life. Surprisingly though, this actually makes it a much more fascinating read (well maybe not for the long-suffering friends who now get to hear every 'amusing' anecdote). Your days, your thoughts, your conversations all orbit the tiny people who have suddenly become your world.
Lately though I've felt a need to try to get back a little of what I was before, and finding time to sew, knit and write are, I suppose, my way of reclaiming a little of the limelight from Merry Berry and the Little Panda. However, even the way I write and create has changed now, my children unconsciously alter my mood, aspirations and my inspirations. I once read an interview with Michelle Obama, in which she was asked how happy she was. I forget the exact quote, but it was along the lines of 'a mother is only as happy as her unhappiest child'. That says it all really. From the moment you give birth the highs and lows of your life become anchored to those of your children. It is a petrifying thought and an equally petrifying reality.
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