I look at my children and can't really see where I end and they begin, such is the all-consuming love and devotion I feel for them. It is a feeling like no other, one that I was striving for. Throughout years of misery, I felt that if I could be a Mother, if I could hold my child in my arms, smell their skin and feel their breath against my cheek, I would find my answer.

What I found was not an answer, but a whole new set of questions.

The miracle that is Motherhood has been the single most wonderful thing that has happened to me. Particularly as I had resigned myself, aged only 30, to a life without children.

But with those "blurred edges", with that unconditional love, comes a sense of loss.

The very thing I felt would confirm my identity and firmly plant my feet in the earth's soil has, at times, felt that it would destroy me. Becoming a Mum has obliterated me into hundreds of tiny pieces that dance in the air around me, taunting me, showing me snippets of the person I once was, and the person I could have been.

I seem to be continuously asking myself "Who am I?"

Whilst writing this, my little girl stands beside me and wriggles against my knees. She requests a cuddle. As her arms wrap around my neck, I feel her solid little body against mine. I feel her warmth and smell her hair. I feel her little heartbeat.

I exhale. There will always be time for me. So what if the next obstacle seems to be larger, more impossible than the one before? So what if the "prize" of feeling complete, or at least my perception of it, seems to forever be just outside my reach?

I am content. This is enough. This is HER time. I am her Mummy.

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