A Blog For Mums
There’s a phase in parenting that no one really prepares you for properly. Not because people don’t mention it, but because it’s almost impossible to explain just how full-on it feels until you’re in it.
One minute, your child is happily pottering about, playing with toys, giving you the odd bit of space. The next, you can’t so much as stand up without them trailing behind you. You hear “Mum” more times in a morning than you thought humanly possible. Personal space becomes a distant memory. Even going to the toilet alone starts to feel like a luxury.
I’ve been through that needy stage more than once, and I’ll be honest — I didn’t glide through it with endless patience and a serene smile. Some days I handled it well. Other days I counted down the minutes until bedtime. Most days sat somewhere in the middle.
But I did get through it. And if you’re in the thick of it now, feeling a bit overwhelmed and slightly touched-out, I promise you will too.
For us, it didn’t arrive all at once. It crept in.
It started with little things — needing help with tasks they’d been fine doing alone, wanting me to sit right next to them while they played, calling me from the next room instead of coming to find me. Then suddenly it felt like everything needed my involvement.
Cooking dinner meant someone attached to my leg. Answering a message on my phone meant a running commentary of “what are you doing?” Getting dressed in the morning became a group activity whether I liked it or not.
There was also the emotional side of it. It wasn’t just practical help they wanted — it was closeness, reassurance, connection. They wanted me near them all the time. And if I wasn’t, they’d let me know about it.
It’s intense, not because any one moment is particularly difficult, but because it doesn’t really stop.
What surprised me most wasn’t the behaviour itself — kids needing their mum isn’t exactly shocking. It was how relentless it felt.
There’s something about being needed constantly that wears you down in a quiet way. You don’t get a chance to reset. You’re always “on.” Always answering, helping, watching, responding.
And then comes the guilt.
Because alongside the love and the understanding that they just want you, there’s also the irritation. The frustration. The moments where you just want five minutes to yourself without being spoken to, touched, or needed for anything at all.
That mix of emotions can make you feel like you’re getting it wrong, even when you’re not.
I didn’t find a magic solution, because there isn’t one. The needy stage isn’t something you fix — it’s something you ride out. But there were a few shifts that made it feel more manageable.
This was a big one.
I kept trying to squeeze normal life into a phase that wasn’t set up for it. I’d start the day with a mental list of things I wanted to get done, and by mid-morning I’d feel like I was failing because none of it was happening smoothly.
Eventually, I stopped expecting so much.
If we got through the day, everyone was fed, and I hadn’t completely lost my patience, that was enough. It sounds simple, but adjusting my expectations took a huge amount of pressure off.
I used to think I needed a proper chunk of time to feel like I’d had a break. In reality, that wasn’t always possible.
So I started taking what I could get.
A hot cup of tea while they were distracted for five minutes. Sitting down for a moment while they watched something. Even just stepping into another room briefly when someone else was around.
It wasn’t perfect, but those small pauses added up more than I expected.
There’s a temptation to push back hard when they become very needy — to insist they do things on their own or entertain themselves.
I found that backfired.
What worked better was gentle encouragement. Sitting with them while they started playing, then gradually stepping away. Letting them try things themselves but staying nearby. Praising the small moments when they did something independently.
It didn’t transform things overnight, but over time, those little steps helped.
There’s a lot of pressure to limit screen time, and I get it. But during particularly intense phases, I stopped seeing it as a failure and started seeing it as a tool.
If putting something on gave me half an hour to breathe, reset, or just sit in silence for a bit, that was a win.
Not every day needs to be perfectly balanced. Some days are about getting through.
This was probably the hardest one.
Whether it was asking my partner to take over for a bit, or leaning on family when it was an option, I had to get more comfortable with not doing everything myself.
Even a short break — a quick walk on my own, a trip to the shop without anyone talking to me — made a difference.
When you’re in the middle of that stage, it’s easy to focus on how constant it feels. But there were small moments that reminded me things were shifting, even if slowly.
The first time they played on their own for ten minutes without calling me.
The moment they said, “I can do it myself.”
Getting through a meal without having to get up three times.
Finishing a cup of tea while it was still hot.
They sound tiny, but at the time, they felt huge.
I remember wondering if it would always feel that intense. When you’re in it, it stretches out and feels endless.
But it did change.
Gradually, without any big turning point, things softened. They became a bit more independent again. The constant calling slowed down. The need to be physically close all the time eased.
Not completely — parenting doesn’t suddenly become quiet and spacious — but enough that I could breathe a bit more.
And then, of course, a different phase comes along. That’s just how it goes.
If you’re reading this while someone is calling your name from the next room (or sitting on your lap), I completely get it.
It’s a lot. It’s draining in a way that’s hard to explain to anyone who isn’t living it. And it’s okay if you don’t love every second of it.
Needing space doesn’t make you a bad mum. Feeling overwhelmed doesn’t mean you’re doing anything wrong. It just means you’re human, dealing with a very full-on stage of parenting.
You don’t have to handle it perfectly. You just have to get through it in whatever way works for you and your family.
Because you will get through it.
And one day, you’ll realise you’ve made a cup of tea, sat down, and no one has asked you anything for at least five minutes. And it’ll feel like the biggest luxury in the world.
Parenthood
