What kind of mother in their right mind would admit they didn’t want to go home to their son? Well, me. It’s not an easy confession to make. And certainly not one I make lightly.
But, whether we like to admit it or not, we all have moments when we wish we could take our mum hat off and bury our face in a pillow for an unspecified period of time.
I’ve come to accept that’s just part and parcel of sharing a responsibility that means everything to both of us. Oliver is our flesh and blood. He’s the sum of a love we both once shared, transmuted through his skin and bones.
How could such a beautiful, special soul, give up on herself so easily because one man couldn’t see her worth?
Easily, it turns out. Because I’d spent months doing the exact same thing.