Sat on the sofa, watching old episodes of I love Raymond and Frasier, listening to daughter and husband bustle around the kitchen making a full English breakfast. Snuggled with my hot fluffy hairy babies… Perfectico!
Wishing all Mummies a wonderful Mother’s Day.
I didn’t get my Mother’s Day off to a very good start. I made my daughter proper cry.
Since a young baby, my daughter has always had one of her beloved muzzies to hand. Muzzies are her name for those muslin squares you permanently wear over your shoulder when you have a baby… sick-up cloths.
We own hundreds in varying states of degeneration. Every now and again, I stealthily sneak in a new packet and quietly and respectfully commit the oldest most threadbare ones to the bin.
The muzzies are her comforter. She likes to hold them, to rub them on her skin and to suck them. It’s a sensory regulation ‘thing’, she mouth-packs with them and it helps her feel good.
So. I got my lovely cup of coffee in bed (as I do every day, my husband is the best). Daughter was snuggled in beside me, wrestling for space with the dogs.
Then hubby bounced onto the bed and the coffee went everywhere including all over one of the dogs. The coffee wasn’t boiling hot but I grabbed for the nearest ‘suitable’ thing to dry her off… stupidly I grabbed a spent (all sucked out) muzzy.
It is hard to explain how precious muzzies are to my daughter, it is probably not an overstatement to say they are as precious to her as she is to me. She wept and wept.
Probably about as much as I would if I witnessed my husband use my daughter’s hair to clean the toilet. An act so abysmal, a breach of trust so fundamental, your heart is broken into so many desperate pieces that you just weep and weep and weep.
She can’t believe I did it. I can’t believe I did it. And worse, I can’t believe how I still really enjoyed the chance for a massive (rare) cuddle whilst she recovered from it.
Off the back of that emotional roller coaster this morning, I could be waxing lyrical about motherhood and being thankful that you have been given such a wonderful opportunity as to be someone’s Mummy. Some don’t get that wish-come-true…
But for me, Mother’s Day is a day where Mummies should be allowed and be forgiven for behaving a bit badly. Being a downbeat anti-role model. Laying around unwashed, watching one telly whilst using the other as the babysitter; eating Nutella off spoons, drinking fat Coke, picking at your toenails on the sofa and playing Jenga with the dirty crockery, letting the washing up pile just stack up.
All around the country, we should hear the sound of Mummies being genuinely delighted with all the home-spun offerings but then politely and firmly telling their little stinker(s) to bugger off and leave them in peace, and for just one naughty second, revelling in the shock and horror on their squidgy little faces as you tell them.
Huzzah. Mummies rock.