Reflections.

Mother's Day.
This time 21 years ago my son would have just been up to chewing a telephone receiver, his eyes would be almost focused, he was new to the world.
Now he can dial up and order me beautiful flowers. He is at University in his third year reading Architecture. How did that happen? Time has shot by. I have these three adults sending me beautiful Miller Harris candles, messages and cards.

I spoke to my daughter in Australia, who is a new mother herself. It is not Mother's Day in Oz. We ignored that.
She told me how wonderful it was to go back to work two days a week. The joy of going to the loo on her own, not wiping food and worse things up all day. Also the pleasure from a discussion about Hinduism at work. Daytime conversation becomes a luxury after squeals for months on end.

A year ago she was longing to leave work for her Maternity Year. Now she is reveling in her return. The peace of an afternoon of photocopying, which would have sent her a bit nuts before was heaven she tells me.

Motherhood is a huge mountain when you are at the bottom of it. You can not imagine the little pesky energy ball will ever pick up a phone and be able to read out a card number, or wrap wonderful parcels for you. But it happens, in about what seems like weeks not the many many years.
My daughter in Cornwall swims with Sharks and Rays, it seems about 6 months ago in my mind that she sat in a bath as a foam covered four year old with a wind up fish.

However me, a selfish tomboy only child with no clue what to do with babies, and who wanted to spend every spare minute reading and gardening ever produced these fantastic people is a huge miracle.