Most of the time, I’ve an awareness of my mum, a general appreciation in an-always-there, life-constant kind of way.
However, there have been a few times where there’s been more dramatic realisations about how different my life is compared to my mum’s experience.
For example, sitting on an open air London bus in the middle of winter waiting for the Tower Bridge to close as part of my 25th birthday trip.
In the quiet and cold moment while I was waiting, I realised by the same age mum had been married, had my oldest brother, been widowed, had my second brother a few months later, lost her mum, met and fairly rapidly married my dad, and had my next brother.
Or, when having just picked up my kids (then 2.5 years and 7 months) from their carer after work, in the middle of a nappy change for each of them in the back of the car, and realising that mum had done this SIX more times.
And, most recently waving goodbye to my son (now 15) and my husband for five months while my son experiences New Zealand school life, and realising that it’s pretty different being the one staying at home, rather than heading off on an adventure.
Each time has deepened my understanding and appreciation of mum, and now also makes me wonder what might prompt the kids to pause and reflect…
Tough Mother 