Happy Mothers Day

My great-grandmother gave birth to three children in the 1920's. Only one of those babies lived. In those days, a stillborn baby was not shown to the mother. There were no cuddles, no photographs, no locks of hair or footprints taken. Babies were buried in mass graves at the hospital. My Argie was the only surviving baby, a beloved daughter to two doting parents. Given how big Argie was at birth, my great-grandmother was exceptionally lucky to survive such a difficult delivery. Even today, with epidurals and emergency caesareans, she would have been fortunate to survive.

Argie, my beautiful grandmother, is mum to four children. Her first delivery was so arduous that it was completed with the 'help' of ether. Amazingly, she went on to have my mum, and then my twin aunties - all natural deliveries. With four children under the age of five, she parented in the days of doing the laundry in a copper, making all of her children's clothes by hand, and doing the grocery shopping without a car. Incredible.

My own mum endured an 18 hour labour for me. My definition of "labour" always came from my mum's stories of our births - she did it without pain relief, once with high forceps, and all so very, very patiently. She always told me that the pain of labour all went away when you held your baby in your arms. Considering how much pain my mum must have endured through three natural deliveries, I always felt her love keenly - and then even more so, after Jack's entry into the world.

One of my aunties nearly lost her life, and the life of her unborn baby through a mismanaged birth. Amazingly, she and my cousin were eventually safe and healthy - although more through luck than anything else, I suspect. She later gave birth to an 11lb 5oz sibling for her first son, via emergency caesarean. My other aunty endured years of waiting, and wishing, and red tape before she flew to the other side of the world to meet her baby. After waiting patiently in the entrance hall of the orphanage, she was handed a naked 14 month old baby boy. That was all. She dressed him, and fed him, and brought him home on a plane. And has loved him beyond measure ever since.

And me? Like my great-grandmother before me, I endured a delivery that very nearly killed both myself and my son. And like the wonderful women in my family who raised me and loved me, I went back for more. Why? Because the risk of not having babies was greater than the risk of having them. Even though I have now been forbidden by my obstetrician to have any more babies, it was worth every moment to have the three incredible little people who are my kids. Every amazing mother in my family went to extraordinary lengths to have her children, regardless if that was to risk her own life to give birth, or to fly into the unknown to bring a homeless baby into her heart to love.

As mothers, we take risks every day. Getting pregnant is a risk in itself. Being pregnant, giving birth, surviving post-natal depression, defying the breastfeeding gods, making decisions about solids and sleep routines and tummy time. Knowing what is best for your baby, deciding when to go back to work, what sort of nappies to use, where to send them to kinder or school, teaching them to socialise with other kids, knowing what to do in the middle of the night when they are sick. The list of challenges unwittingly faced by mothers every day is potentially limitless.

But the biggest risk? Allowing your child to walk far enough away from you, so that you cannot physically touch them, and know that they will be ok. Having a little body running around that contains a tiny piece of your heart, and your soul - someone who is here because you loved them, and nurtured them, and put their needs before your own in every way imaginable. And we do this because seeing them happy, makes us happy; seeing them learn something new gives us a sense of pride and achievement; seeing them give and receive love makes us radiate with warmth.

On Mother's Day, we try to show our love and appreciation for the women who devoted themselves to raising us. Even though I don't need a particular day to feel loved by my children, I must say I felt very special this morning. After sleeping in to 8 o'clock (8 o'clock!!!), I was woken by Jack, Phoebe and Maisie bearing croissants and a chai latte. My beloved had taken the kids out to the bakery while I slumbered (after the Mouse's morning snuggly feed), and had made me the most gorgeous breakfast in bed. They all sat up in bed with me and munched on toast and jam, which apparently was a hilarious thing to do, because they were in fits!

Jack had bought me a very pretty heart-shaped keyring and a card with a badge on it from the Mother's Day stall at school, Phoebe had made me a glittery flower and a card at kinder, and my darling hubby had wrapped up a brand new Nigella for me. And you know how much I love Nigella!!!!! Too exciting. But the best gift, was being surrounded by my babies and being kissed and cuddled. They were so determined to give me a happy day. And then we went off to swimming lessons, and I watched with pride and wonder while they learned more and loved every second. We saw Grandma and Grandpa, Truncle and Dale for lunch, and then Argie, Narnie, Pa, Miffy, Whale, and Miffy's bump for afternoon tea.

Mother's Day is always a whirlwind of food and hugs, and there's no doubt that it's a busy, often tiring day. But it's the least we can do for our mothers. Because there's nothing they wouldn't do for us. They've already proven that. The pain, the sleepless nights, the cracked nipples, the breaking back from hours spent walking the halls, the worry - all of it would be done again in a heartbeat, just because of the love. Motherhood is love. It's as simple as that.

Happy Mothers Day to all of you, whether you are a mummy, a mummy-to-be, a mummy to fur babies, or a beloved aunty. There's more than enough love to go around.