It's me or the kids: When baby stages end, but sacrifices don’t

People talk a lot about the early years of motherhood – the sleepless nights, the nappies, the colic, the sheer physical exhaustion. But what’s spoken about less is what comes after that. The middle years. The school runs, the endless snacks, the forgotten homework, the emotional rollercoasters. The constant giving.

My children are no longer babies. They’re between six and ten now – funny, curious, full of life. And still, every morning, I wake up already behind. I hit the ground running: school bags to pack, water bottles to fill, uniform dramas, breakfast negotiations, one’s crying because their sock feels funny, another forgot it’s PE day. And me? I haven’t had a hot drink in peace for weeks.

There’s no longer a baby on my hip, but I still carry a weight, just in different ways. I plan everyone’s day before mine even starts. I know when the next dentist appointment is, who needs new shoes, what birthday party is next Saturday, but I don't know when I last washed my hair.

And still, somehow, it’s so easy to tell myself there’s just no time for me. That if I take a break, something else will fall apart. The old story plays again and again:

• It’s me or the kids.
• It’s rest or getting the laundry done.
• It’s a walk outside or helping with spellings.
• It’s five minutes of quiet or another conversation about Minecraft.

And just like before, I slowly disappear. Not all at once – just in quiet little ways. I stopped doing the things that made me feel like me. I say “maybe later” to myself far more often than anyone else.

But here’s what I’ve started to learn – often the hard way:

It doesn’t have to be me or the kids.

It can be me and the kids.

Not perfectly. Not every day. But slowly, with intention.

Because my kids don’t need a version of me who is constantly burnt out and putting herself last. They need to see a woman who values herself, models boundaries and self-care, and rest. Who says “I love you” and “Mummy needs ten minutes.”

Because these little acts of care are not indulgent, they are necessary. They teach our children that everyone in a family matters – not just the loudest, not just the smallest, not just the busiest.

Little moments of self-care aren’t selfish – they’re essential. They ask us to be present with ourselves, offer ourselves the same patience, kindness, and space we so easily offer our children. And when we do, we reconnect with the woman we were before motherhood and the one we’re still becoming.

So today, maybe the house will still be messy. Or we’ll be five minutes late for swimming, dinner might be beige and frozen. But could go for a walk, call a friend, or read a page of my book. Maybe I’ll choose myself.

Because it’s not me or the kids.

It’s me, with the kids.

And that’s more than enough.