So, I got to experience my First Mothers Day a week and a bit ago, like so many of my fellow mummies.

Well, to be truthful it was actually my second, but the first time around I was so absurdly high on pain free meds that I thought my undies were actually my baby. I wasn’t really all there.

In the lead up to this most auspicious of days for Mothers both new and old, my husband thought it would be fun to consistently tell me that he hadn’t gotten a present, but he guessed he should. What a character my dear husband is. Pffft.  If he was serious there may have been no more husband by lunchtime.

Kidding (not kidding).

Regardless, I went into my first (second) Mothers Day with high expectations. I was expecting the day to unfold like some kind of advertisement. You know, one of those smarmy “why is everyone smiling, and who the hell’s house looks like that” kind of ads. The kind of ad that makes you want to throw something at the tv.

And because of those stupid ads I expected a sleep in. I expected to be served a delicious home-cooked breakfast in bed, and to receive loads of delicious cuddles. I expected to be treated like the absolute legend mummy that I am.

What I DIDN’T expect was to turn into a raving lunatic. But naturally, I did. Because thats what I do.

I got my usual Sunday sleep in (thank god) because boy oh boy, mummy needed it. When mummy doesn’t get a sleep in, mummy goes cray-cray to the point that she will cry if the pegs don’t match on the clothes line. #matchymatchy.

But since I was so excited about my first (second) Mothers Day, I ended up struggling to actually sleep during my sleep in. I instead lay about PRETENDING to be asleep until around 9am.

After stalking all of my Facebook friends until 9:30 I realised that no breakfast had magically appeared in my bed or mouth, so I wrenched myself out of bed for a shower.

Whilst in the shower I remembered something.

My sweet husband doesn’t really care about special days like this. Nope, not even Christmas really floats his boat. And whilst I love every special day and want to jump all over the place bursting with excitement, he just doesn’t feel the same. To him its just another ho hum day. Which disappoints me every time!

So I nervously wandered down the stairs towards the kitchen where my husband was fluffing about. And after waiting for a hug that I obviously wasn’t going to get, my husband informed me that he had already had breakfast down the street, so I could make myself something if I was hungry. Sigh again.

I was shattered. What about burning some toast for me? What about a coffee that I most likely won’t drink? I mean, I thought the whole POINT of mothers day was to make women all over the world eat badly burnt bread and cereal that is soggy beyond belief, all while we oooooooohhhh’d and ahhhhhhhed about how precious and thoughtful our terrible chefs were?

Nope, not in my household. I had to make myself breakfast like a dope (see the recipe here), and then depressingly ate it on my own sad sack lonesome whilst my husband watched some football related who-gives-a-crap show on tv in the other room.

And I had a little sniffle.

I shovelled the delicious pancakes into my gob feeling a little unloved and unappreciated. And the thoughts kept running through my head on a loop.

Until it happened. I lost my mind.

I yelled like no-one had ever yelled in the history of yelling before. Its my mothers day too you know! Why don’t you care about meeeee????!!!!!!! I whined to my husband. I may have waved my arms about and stomped my feet like a four year old at the same time. I’m not proud of it. But I kinda am at the same time.

My dear long suffering husband just took it in his stride, trying to hide his shocked expressions whilst I lost my mind in his direction. But he didn’t say anything.

And when he got our sweet baby son up from his morning nap a couple of hours later, I saw it. As they walked down the stairs together I saw a small bunch of flowers, and a dribble covered card clutched in hands of my baby son who was shooting out joy like the ball of sunshine that he is.

Well….Shit…

They hadn’t forgotten me. The flowers may have been a wee bit droopy and from the supermarket, but they were sweet. And there was a GIFT in the card, my husband had just been waiting for our baby to wake up before giving it to me.

As I write this I feel like a complete jerk, however although I was grateful for the present I received, I was kinda disappointed.

I know it sounds dumb. I know it sounds childish, but I wanted it to be a special day.

I didn’t WANT to make my own breakfast. I didn’t WANT to eat by myself. I wanted to feel super loved and super special, but I started out that day feeling a little lonely and bored. Like a child, I wanted my husband to wrap his arms around me and tell me how wonderful I am and how brilliant a mother I am. I am selfish and needy like that.

And I secretly wanted to be whisked away for lunch somewhere and treated like a queen mummy. I wanted to be smothered in love. I wanted a day like all the mummies I knew seemed to be experiencing on Facebook…Bloody Facebook. Sigh Double Sigh.

But it wasn’t meant to be.

So I am putting in my order for next year now. For my next Mothers Day I don’t need a gift. I just want some burnt toast and a cuddle.

What is the moral of this story you ask?

Make your mum feel special on Mothers Day. Make her feel loved. Show her how important she is. It won’t take long but it will mean the world to her. xxx

 

 

What would you really love on Mothers Day? Chocolate? Flowers? A hug? Tell me all about it below 🙂 

 

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