I remember my first Mothers Day, as a mother, like it was yesterday. It was a beautiful Spring day and I went for a walk in the park with my mum and Neve, proud as punch pushing my pram. It was nothing special, just a slow walk in the sunshine followed by a cup of tea at a cafe. Yet now, six years later, it stands out as something very special to me.
The following day I came down with a sickness bug, which I thankfully recovered from in time for Neve’s christening that coming Sunday, but it was also the first crack appearing in my health. Little did I know that just two months later I would come down with a cold virus, which I never really bounced back from and a month later I would breakdown on such a grand scale (both physically and mentally) that it would take me another four years to fully recover. Of course these few words don’t tell the whole story and when I look back, the cracks had already started to appear long before the walk in the park that day.
I don’t think I would have believed it that day, if someone told me what laid ahead. Looking back at the woman I was then, I’ve realised that I didn’t know myself at all before becoming a mother. I had no idea that motherhood would teach me so much about myself and despite the painful way I’ve learned, it’s been a lesson I’ll always be grateful for.
I must confess the following four Mothers Day are a blur, and like most special occasions during that time, are clouded by my poor health. Today couldn’t have been more different, I’ve banked every moment to memory and along with my first Mothers day six years ago, this one will always be special to me. The first one unknowingly was a stones throw from a chapter of my life I am happily looking back from and today’s was the beginning of a chapter I’m very much looking forward to. I can finally see the finishing line of full health and feel the guilt I’ve been carrying around for being ill lifting. I also know without question that I have been and always will be, the best Mother I can be.