On Mother’s Day with the
flowers, chocolates, breakfast in bed
(or gin, manly hugs, and lunchtime pancakes this year),
it’s easy to sugar coat the celebration.
‘Love you mummy,’ tiny wishes
and the sharp, sharp pangs for the lost mums, the never-to-be children.
Motherhood is hard and messy, and we know all about the sleepless nights,
the guilt and stretchmarks and impossible standards.
Don’t get me started on
curved balls, footballs and teeny-tiny footfalls…
or patriarchy’s especially unkind burden.
Offspring take us for granted and we grumble back.
Yet, I’m most glad that my boys chose me for their mum.