Mothers become mothers when we see 2 lines on a test. We fall in love with our embryo at first sight. We love and nurture our ever growing bellies and talk to it like it was already in our arms.
We go through hours of labour, pain, blood and shit; and we finally get a look at your precious face. Your cry makes us cry and our world changes forever.
Then come the sleepless nights, the screaming, the extreme pain of breastfeeding, looking and feeling like utter shit; but you don’t care. You love this little human with your whole being and wouldn’t change a thing. Ok, maybe you’d change the sleepless nights.
There are terrible twos, threenagers and downright stubborn and sassy attitudes when they reach school. They hate your guts, hate your cooking, think you’re stupid and slam doors in your face. You know deep down they love you but can they not spit on you/kick you/punch you/bite you?
Mother’s Day is a day of celebrating being a Mother but in no way shape or form do I want to spend the day with the brat pack! I can’t wait to open their little gifts from day care and read their cards telling me how much they love when I bake them cakes (because that’s apparently all I do). And after the card/present opening, I will GTFO.
You shall find me at the pub. No responsibility, no kids, no worries. Beer, pub feed and more beer. I love being a Mum, it’s a tough gig, I wouldn’t change it, but give me the day off. I don’t need fancy presents, just let me be me. Not a daggy, stressed out Mum, but me. Before I had kids…