What do you think a mum looks like? Go on – ask yourself the question. I don’t know exactly how I would have answered that question before I had babies, but I know that however I described her she would have been different to myself, a bit more… sensible, mature. Wearing a boring coat. That’s it! Boring.
I have literally no idea where I got this idea from, my own mum is not boring and her mum was the least boring woman I have ever met; none of my friends who have children are boring or became even a tiny bit boring when they had kids. I could write a list a mile long of mums I know who are great mums but in no way sensible or mature. In fact, I could write a pretty long list of mums who you would do well to avoid if you want to retain your sanity and some sense of dignity (but hey who wants to do that?!).
So why the hell does it still make me shift uncomfortably in my seat when I am labelled as a mum? This is clearly ridiculous… I’ve got two children, and the number of times I hear the word Mummy! during the day is off the chart. Thinking that mums were somehow different to me – that they felt differently or behaved differently to myself made me feel as though I was on the outside looking in at motherhood. A lot of the time, it has felt like I was playing at being a proper mum.
I suppose a little bit of this was me being a tosser. I thought I was cooler than everyone else; I thought I was different. I’d moved away from home, forged a career, I didn’t necessarily want the same things as ‘everyone else’. Until I did. As soon as my sister had children my ovaries went into overdrive and I wanted a baby; it was not a decision made over late night discussions with a long term partner… it was as though something hormonal had exploded inside me and I needed to get going right away. So I did.