I’ve started to really enjoy gardening. I know pretty much nothing about plants but I like sticking stuff in the ground and watching it grow.

Thanks to various people, I had a little bit of time to plant some flowers today, some that I’d bought but some that I’d been growing from seed and was anxious to get in the ground before they got too big.

I’ve talked quite a lot to my counsellor about why I find gardening so therapeutic. One of the things I found myself saying was that I like to put some effort in and then watch and wait for something beautiful to bloom. I find it very satisfying and it brings me joy.

You could say it’s the same with raising children. You care for them, nurture them, feed them and watch them bloom.

But here’s the bit that I struggle with.

Stewart and I give our children everything, we always have. And yet, with Woody, while we have watched him bloom, everything has been a struggle, a hurdle, a mountain. At every turn, we’ve had to scrape together our resources to get him to a milestone that shouldn’t be so difficult. (I’ll talk more about the problem with milestones in another post).

I’ve often looked around and thought “why are we having to work so much harder to get our boy to where he needs to be?”. I don’t have the answer to that, I’m not sure anyone does. But now that I have a second child, it’s very obvious to me that this is the case.

In the garden, I know if I provide a plant or a bulb or a seed with the right pot, compost, feed, light and water, I can make it grow. And I like how that feels.

My nurturing role as a mum is a lot more complicated.