As with most Mother’s Days, mine began with a little line of excitable small beings peering in through my bedroom door with a lovingly prepared cup of tea and clutch of wee gifts.  My middle daughter had made me a button that says:

Mothers are like buttons;

They hold everything together


Obviously they haven’t seen my laundry pile at nursery. My eldest daughter made an origami flower at Brownies last week and it’s been ‘hidden’ in a sock draw for a week but now rests on my jewelry box (I’m fighting the urge to ask her how she thinks the socks get to her drawer).  The two year old who has not the teensiest clue of Mothers Day slurped lukewarm tea with gusto then poured coffee onto the floor. After several rounds of breakfasts in bed mainly consisting of plastic fruit and water tipped between toy tin pots and cups with tiny matching saucers, we got up and on with our Sunday.

But on Mother’s day I always spend the entire day with a big lump in my throat because what I actually end up thinking about is so much more.

I think about all my failings as a Mum, the times I let myself down by not being the parent I thought I could be. I think about the Mums we’ve lost and Mums who have lost, all of the relationships that we mourn.  I think of all the women out there who aren’t Mums yet, or the ones who are tired of being considered unnatural or less womanly in some way because they don’t want to be one.  I think of the Mums-to-be feeling their babies kick or seeing the heartbeat flicker on a monitor for the first time.  I think of the Mums who are going through gut wrenchingly tough fertility treatments diving off cliff edges of disappointment only to dust themselves the fuck off and get back on it next time.   I think of my friends, Mums or not, who are with me on this journey and I think of the poem that one of them wrote in my birthday card this year:

Now you understand
Just why my head’s not bowed.   
I don’t shout or jump about
Or have to talk real loud.   
When you see me passing,
It ought to make you proud.
I say,
It’s in the click of my heels,   
The bend of my hair,   
the palm of my hand,   
The need for my care.   
’Cause I’m a woman
Phenomenal woman,
That’s me.

Maya Angelou, Phenomenal Woman


So today, for me, is about all women, regardless of whether you have a uterus or what you intend to do or have done with it.  If you’re having a good day or bad, your heart’s broken or full.

We’re all in this together.