Happy Mother's Day, brilliant women.
If I'd been asked four years ago it I fancied a job, which would involve:
- No pay
- Getting up ten minutes after I've gone to bed to have someone scream in my face/ shit on me/ stick their fingers up my nose
- Make food to watch someone either throw it directly on the floor, or flick it over my clean clothes;
I would have assumed I was applying for a job working for Jeremy Clarkson.
But then, I didn’t know that the pay off is feeling so loved by a small person that they would scamper across the floor as fast as their little legs could crawl, just to pull themselves up on my trousers to give me a toothless grin.
Or the reward of having a three-year-old whisper in a breathy voice that I’m her best friend. That my hair is nicer than Elsa from Frozen's and I'm funnier than Dubee and Framed (You’ve Been Framed.)
So here’s to Motherhood.
The worst paid, most anti-socially houred, best job in the whole-wide-world.