The guilty pleasure of the ‘Mama’ phase

Hello — I have a small confession to make. I’m in a bit of a love/hate relationship at the moment, and it all revolves around one word: Mama.

My son is two, and he talks. A lot. An almost insane amount of chatter. He’s always been an early talker, which still fills me with awe. And when he says “Mama,” my heart genuinely skips a beat.

But lately, that word has started to sound like an old cassette tape — stretched, tangled, rewound, and played on repeat. Constant. Sometimes with no purpose other than to make me stop whatever I’m doing.

Writing this feels awful, because truly, there is no greater joy than hearing your child call for you. And yet — I’ll admit it — there have been moments when I’ve told my other half I’m going to the loo, only to sit on the edge of the bathtub, doom-scrolling TikTok, letting myself get lost in a different kind of noise.

Somehow, I feel both guilty and grateful at the same time. It’s confusing — because who doesn’t want to feel needed by their child? And I know there will come a day when it’s all about Papa and not Mama, so I try to soak this up while I can.

I can sit and watch my son for ages — his imaginary play, his character-building, the intense look of concentration on his face. But just when you think he has his universe under control, even if my husband or another family member is right there with him, the Mama playlist kicks in. And suddenly, all he wants is my attention. Not even to tell me anything — just to remind me that I am his, and he is mine.

The guilt doesn’t stop there. I watch my husband take the reins, but right now, in those very specific moments, Papa just isn’t cutting the mustard. He steps in, ready and willing, only to be gently — or not so gently — pushed aside and met with a very clear: “Mama… big cuddle.”

This strange cocktail of pleasure and guilt seems to be a recurring theme in parenting. The constant reminder that we must enjoy everything because it only happens once — that there are firsts that will never come again — creates a pressure I’ve never felt before.

It’s not the kind of pressure you feel at work. It doesn’t boil over. It runs deeper than that. It’s quieter, heavier, and far more meaningful. And perhaps that’s because of the expectations we’ve been conditioned to absorb — what parenthood should sound like, look like, feel like — which only intensifies the meaning and the weight of it all.

During my doom-scrolling toilet sessions, I see all kinds of “perfect” parenting: the adoration, the harmony, the picture-perfect love. But it’s not just that. It’s love mixed with noise, unpredictability, and constant change.

They say it’s their way of saying: I need reassurance. I need connection. I feel overwhelmed. I don’t know what I need. And that last one is what it feels like most of the time.

Don’t get me wrong — I don’t sit in my solitary confinement often. There’s rarely time for that in daily life. But every once in a while, I give my husband the look. The one that says: I’m going to tell you I’m going to the loo — but really, I just need a minute on my phone. Please hold the fort, and don’t ask me any questions. If anyone asks I’m not in.

Talking to other mums, I find more common ground in our shared need for five uninterrupted minutes in the bathroom than in the endless “yes, darling, yes” we’re led to believe defines a good parent. We all have our own safe spaces — those moments we claim when uninterrupted time feels absolutely essential.

I call mine ‘doom-scrolling TikTok sessions’. Others call theirs “trauma showers” — an affectionate term for standing under warm water for a few stolen minutes, listening only to it cascade down while the muffled sounds of your son taking full control of the living room — fade into a distant echo. For some, it’s a brisk step outside, a call to a family member or friend just to ask what they had for dinner.

However it shows up, it’s the same thing: the need for a few minutes that are completely and utterly your own. And for a moment when you hear other mums versions of this - the guilt seems to subside.

I’m reminded of a great TV show Lessons in Chemistry, starring Brie Larson as a chemistry expert who becomes a single mother and struggles for recognition in her field in the 1950s. She ends up hosting a cooking show — and at the close of every episode, she says:

“Children, set the table. Your mother needs a moment to herself.”

That line, repeated at the end of her broadcasts, becomes a quiet but powerful message about agency, self-care, and challenging traditional expectations of women — far more than just a cooking show catchphrase. I watched it before my son was born. Now it makes perfect sense. We all need that moment to ourselves and it totally ok.

On the flip side - when I hear the ‘Mama’ playlist kick in and I reply with my usual ‘Yes?’ it can spur on the most wonderful conversations with this little person who is exploring everything for the first time. And how lucky am I that he wants my involvement in his discovery.

So to all those feeling that weird sense of guilt and pleasure mixed into one. Go with it. 5 minutes in the loo for a bit of time out does not make you a bad parent. You are human and you need a minute to yourself.