You know those years that start off looking all neat and promising and then somehow unravel into a combination of chaos, courage, and questionable coffee? That’s been my year, while when I say year, I actually mean 2 months. Some parts have been beautiful, others messy, and a few just… awkward. The kind of awkward that feels like fixing your bra strap in public while pretending no one’s watching.
This is my story of friendship, motherhood, marriage, and a few unexpected plot twists. Told with a little laughter, a few tears, and a whole lot of honesty.
When Your Soul Sister Moves Across the Ocean for a New Life
My soul sister, my person, packed up her life and moved across the ocean so she and her precious family could chase new opportunities (and sunshine) in Australia. I’m happy for her, truly, but slightly traumatised by the time difference. Could the universe not have made us at least share a time zone?
T, always says I’m a touch dramatic, and she’s not wrong. But if you’ve ever had to say goodbye to your person, you’ll understand. It’s like being forced to hand over your favourite thing, not your husband or kids, but your real favourite thing, like coffee or chocolate to a stranger and then just watch them enjoy it while you never get the chance to have it again, ever.
My T, is now 10,408 kilometres away, measured by air travel (thank you, Google) with an eight-hour time difference. My heart aches every day, but I’m so proud of her for grabbing this adventure with her knight in his jeans and vellies, and their beautiful sunshine girl. Australia, you’ve got a treasure. Please handle her with care.
Married to an International Man of Mystery
Meanwhile, my husband has entered what I like to call his “International Man of Mystery era”. First, he worked in the Congo for a couple of weeks, came home just long enough for me to remember what it’s like to have another adult in the house, and then, BAM! Back to the Congo he went. Déjà vu, much?
Just as I’d perfected single-parent life, balancing work, motherhood, and the occasional mental breakdown between loads of laundry and no bestie, he waltzed in and casually said, “Oh, by the way, work wants me to head to Australia for three months.”
Now, this working-away business isn’t new. He’s done his three-month stints before, and honestly, I’m okay with it. He’s passionate about what he does and brilliant at it. So, when he told me about Australia, I wasn’t sad. I was proud. Properly proud. (Okay fine, maybe slightly jealous of the kangaroos and uninterrupted sleep, but mostly proud.) Why on earth would I be the one to stop him? This was an amazing opportunity. Proud wife over here!
So, off he went, with my full blessing, might I add and I promised him that everything would be just fine. “Don’t worry,” I said confidently. “Dinosaur and I have got this.” Famous. Last. Words. Spoiler alert: we did not have this.
The Back That Broke the Mama
It started with a bit of back pain. Nothing serious or so I thought. Except it got worse. To the point that sitting up in bed required a pep talk and possibly a small prayer.
Eventually, I put on my big girl panties (figuratively, no one needs that kind of pressure) and called my in-laws to watch Dinosaur while I headed to the doctor. I was expecting a quick jab, a few pills, maybe a fancy IV drip like before. The good type that gives you a quick 20-minute cat nap on an uncomfortable doctor’s rooms bed. Nope. Dr Appelt looked at me and said, “Wait in town. You’re going straight to hospital.” Lovely.
Since “hospital” wasn’t on my to-do list, I drove 30 minutes home, half-bent like the Hunchback of Hilton, to pack a bag and get Dinosaur sorted with his grandparents. One night, they said. Quick sticks. Three nights later, there I was, in hospital pyjamas, drinking bad coffee, and learning that “rest” apparently means being woken up every two hours for vitals.
Oh, and remember that jab I was hoping for? Turns out I did end up having one. A slow-releasing epidural administrated in theatre while being awake. Six hours flat on my back, as the feeling in my back and legs disappear and then reappear. When I could finally feel them again, I moved like Ariel walking on land for the first time and not being caffeinated for more hours than I liked.
But hey, I survived. Barely. And if anyone’s handing out trophies, I’ll take mine engraved with “Didn’t Completely Fall Apart.” (A night away with no one calling me ‘Mommy’ would also do. Hint, hint.)
The Holiday That Wasn’t
My “school holidays” which was only one week and I was so looking forward to was spent doing physiotherapy and rebuilding my back strength, until my doctor decided I wasn’t ready to return to work and needed another week off.
Most people would cheer at that. Not me. My little hearts at school mean the world to me, and having another teacher in my classroom felt… wrong. Like sharing underwear. You just don’t. Still, I tried to rest. Keyword: tried.
Croup vs COVID
The night before I was due to go back to school, I woke to the sound of Dinosaur gasping for air, coughing, crying, and clutching at me like his life depended on it. His temperature flashed 40°C. I grabbed my keys and phone, ready to rush him to casualty. But by the time I got the car out, he’d fallen asleep, holding onto his daddy’s pillow. Cute, right? I know!
So, I climbed back into bed, held him close, and prayed.
By morning, Grandpa and I were on our way to Dr Appelt (Again), who, by the way, is harder to book than Schalk Bezuidenhout tickets (Apparently this is an impossible task for me). I messaged him before we left, and bless him, he replied, “Just come, I’ll see Blake.” He admitted Blake on the spot.
I had to cancel therapy sessions, take Grandpa home, pack bags, grab meds, fill in forms, all before heading back to the hospital. Chaos? Always.
Turns out it wasn’t croup like I had originally thought (Thanks Google). It was COVID. And that decision to wait till morning? It still haunts me. What was I thinking?!
Then between the hospital and the Phlebotomists, they lost his bloods and had to retake them, traumatising my little Dinosaur all over again. Hearing him cry “Mama!” while I held him down… that sound still follows me in my sleep. Hearing him call for Daddy and reach out toward the phone broke me completely. Because no matter how much I love him, I’m not Daddy. And that bond is its own kind of special.
Later, as I unpacked his medication onto the hospital trolley, a new nurse walked in. Now we go to the same hospital, all the time. It’s a standing family joke that we should just build a cottage on the property or have shares in the hospital we pretty much know all the nurses and catering staff. When someone knew comes through the door, its more overwhelming for them then it is for us. I handed her a paper listing all his meds’ doses and time frame to save her time. She looked at it, saw the table full of syringes and bottles, and her eyes filled with tears. She excused herself, came back a few minutes later, and said she felt overwhelmed, not just for Blake, but for me.
I could have said a hundred things in that moment. But instead, I just hugged her. Somehow, I knew she needed it more than I did.
What I Know Now
People often ask me, “How do you do it?” Especially when my husband’s away.
Here’s the truth:
- I’m not alone. God is good, and I have an incredible support system.
- It’s not a situation I chose, but I’d choose it again if it meant having my Dinosaur. He’s everything and more, and I’m the lucky one to be his mama.
- It’s not the weight of the load that breaks you down — it’s how you carry it. (Thanks, C.S. Lewis.)
So here I am, back sore, heart full, coffee in hand, still standing, still laughing, still carrying.
Because that’s what moms do.
I shared this story not for sympathy, but to remind another mama out there, you’re not failing, you’re feeling. You’re not weak, you’re working through it. Sometimes, that’s more than enough.
