I remember the first time I saw you, son. You were 12 weeks and 3 days old. Of course, I’d seen you many times before, as I’d moved though the hazy night time process of dimly lit nappy changes, twilight burping sessions, and supporting your mumma, as you drank from her hour after hour, day after day.
They say that we mothers can have it all, that we’re liberated, free and pushing down walls. They say that our daughters will see what we do, that they’ll learn that as girls they can have it all too! Then why is it that this is not what i see? I see mums forced to rush through work and through tea, while holding in bottled up, anxiety.