It took a while for it to sink in.

I flipped through glossy catalogs that filled my letter box. Candles, pyjamas, bath robes, bath oils, bath bombs, picture frames, perfumes, nail polish, underwear, food processors, microwaves, irons, cake mixers. Mother’s Day presents. It begins today.

I’m on the receiving end of catalog Mother’s Day shit. My kitchen cupboards are going to be filled with electrical appliances that I only use once a year. My shelves are going to be cluttered with porcelain ornaments from Target. The new bear-patterned pyjamas will hang between the floral-patterned pyjamas and the striped-patterned pyjamas.

Oh I’m being such a wuss. Truth is, I’m in denial. I’m still trying to discover what it means (to me) to be a mum. And it’s only been 4 weeks.

I have a feeling that, over time, I will succumb to the soppiness of Mother’s Day.

I know that because when Callum comes home with his first painting of My Mum… someone will be turning into a puddle of goo.

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