One of my earliest childhood memories is of me holding my mum’s hand. I can still smell her skin and feel the way her fingers interlocked with mine. Her nails were always neatly trimmed and sometimes painted in the palest of pale pinks. At five, I made up my mind that when I became an adult, I wanted hands just like hers.
Similarly, I recall the way she used to ‘Eskimo kiss’ me, you know, nose-to-nose style. Mum’s nose, like her hands, was silky and smooth, and she smelled to me like Strawberry Shortcake dolls, which at five years old, was pretty much the best thing that anyone could smell like. Her cheeks were always slightly rose-coloured and I just loved the way she seemed so unique. I knew that I had the best and most beautiful mum in the world and that no-one else’s could compare.
Well, now that I’m an adult, I know only part of this to be true. The ‘softness and deliciousness of Mum’s skin’ part. She really has been blessed in that department. But the bit about having the best mum in the world is untrue and true at the same time. While I still definitely think she is, I realise now that MANY people think this about their mums, and that it is also definitely true for them.