Motherhood didn’t come with a manual; it came with noise, tears, and tiny humans who could turn peace into chaos in under five seconds.

That morning, the house was unusually quiet. Too quiet. 

Any seasoned mother knows silence is not peace, it’s a warning. I dropped the spoon in my hand and ran toward the living room, only to find my three-year-old standing proudly on the couch, his face smeared with Vaseline, while his sister calmly attempted to “wash” the television with a cup of Milo. 

When asked why, she looked me dead in the eye and said, “It was dirty and I’m helping.” In that moment, I realized motherhood is a series of heart attacks disguised as love.

But the drama doesn’t end there. Children have a special talent for public embarrassment. The same child who hugs you at home will scream “That’s not my mummy!” in the market. 

The one who eats like a champion suddenly forgets how food works when guests arrive. They cry over broken biscuits, argue with invisible enemies, and somehow always wait until you’re on an important call to unleash their finest performance.

Yet, in the middle of the mess, something beautiful happens. After the shouting, the cleanup, and the deep sighs, a small hand reaches for yours. 

A sleepy voice says, “Mummy, I love you.” And just like that, the drama fades. You forget the Vaseline incident. You forgive the Milo television. Because motherhood, in all its chaos, is still the most powerful love story ever written one naughty child at a time. 💛