Mother Lover.

15 Mar

It is Mother’s Day. You maybe didn’t notice. 

My own mother is excellent. Properly brilliant. 

We bicker and we fight but we always make up in the end, mostly because I realise that I am the one in the wrong. 

Even at the age of 24, she will ask “are you really wearing that out?”. My answer is always “yes, thank you.” And without fail, by the time I have reached the bottom of my road, I will be regretting my clothing choices. 

I’ve never known someone who can make me laugh so much without having to travel to Edinburgh and buy an overpriced ticket to go and see. She’s genuinely hilarious. Whip smart, wise and always willing to tell me if I’m being a dickhead. 

She is NOT my friend. We are both clear on this. Friends you can tell about the boy on OKCupid you messaged to tell him that is was duct tape, not duck tape that he meant to write on his profile. Friends will not judge you when you try and explain that you were only sending the message to be nice, not to be an arsehole. You can’t tell Mums about that.

Mums are there to rush and get the first aid kit from the kitchen when you fall over outside your house before work and spend 10 minutes extracting bits of tights from your knees. Even at the age of 23.

Hopefully, I’ll be lucky enough to have children of my own in the future. And if I can be 1/10th of the Mum to them as mine has been to me, then they will be very lucky indeed.

Bella Fell, you are a diamond. I’m fortunate to have you in my life. Thank you for everything.


(What I’m really hoping for is my Mum to read this first thing tomorrow before she leaves for work, have a bit of a cry and them come into my room, punch me on the arm, tell me I’m awful and then leave again. Time will tell.)


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