Why this mum reckons Mother’s Day is the pits

Stock image.
Stock image.

IT began about two weeks ago. ‘Mum, what do you want for Mother’s Day?’ ‘Nothing babes, I’m fine, please stop asking me.’

My lack of sentimentality and hatred of Mother’s Day, which is second only to my birthday on the list of my least favourite days of the year, are probably some of my worst traits as a parent.

But I can’t help it. Mother’s Day sucks.

I love my children. They’re the best things that ever happened to me and gave my life direction when I had none.

But I can’t muster up any enthusiasm on the day that is meant to be “my day”.

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I don’t know if it’s the way the day is marketed as this unholy celebration of everything pink and feminine.

I am not a pink fluffy slippers and love hearts kind of woman.

Or if it’s the way that I HAVE TO DO EVERYTHING to make this day a success.

First I need to come up with some cash (who carries cash anymore?) to give to the kids so they can buy me a gift I’ll definitely hate.

Then I’ll have to take time off work to make it to the “special Mother’s Day afternoon tea” at the school (this reminds me, can I please have Friday afternoon off?).

Then on Sunday, despite being exhausted after taking the little darlings to their various football games on Saturday, I’ll have to muster up some enthusiasm for a shitty instant coffee and cold breakfast when all I really want is to sleep in.

Meanwhile, my own mother is a saint but she’ll probably be working, so that takes some extra shine off the day.

I know what you’re probably thinking right now – that I’m a complete bitch, right?

But think about it, I work full time and I have three kids, so all I really want is a day off from mothering.

No worrying about what’s for dinner, no worrying about the fact that my eldest is probably failing high school, or that my middle child needs another hair cut or that the youngest is definitely spending too much time watching YouTube, or that the dog definitely needs a bath and a haircut or that the cat has started peeing inside again so she probably has to see the vet, or that I’m not spending enough time with my husband, and the showers need cleaning and there’s a weird mould on the washing machine seal and and and……

That’s never going to happen. So I’ll probably just open that bottle of prosecco that’s been sitting in the fridge for a while, exclaim over the slippers and be grateful that I actually have people who love me on Mother’s Day.





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