With Mother’s Day approaching, many mums start dreaming wistfully of sleep-ins, massages, or – let’s be honest – just an unaccompanied trip to the toilet. When the day arrives, it can be difficult not to have any sense of disappointment about old-lady slippers and fussy-as-ever kids. But last year I saw a dear friend experience a very bittersweet Mother’s Day, which changed the way I thought about the day. Happy Mother’s Day to all the mums out there, and love to those for whom the day brings mixed emotions. x
In the lead-up to Mother’s Day, I found myself both transfixed and irritated by a particular advertisement on Facebook. It wasn’t obscene or crude or exploitative, it was just, well… a bit ridiculous. Clad in a gold negligee with glossy blonde curls cascading over her slender shoulders, the “mother” rises like a mermaid from a pastel sea of roses, pastries, handbags and parcels piled across the bed. A glittery pink eye mask is pushed up her porcelain forehead, and gosh she looks well-rested.
I know advertisements are meant to tap into fantasies, but I couldn’t help thinking this one had gone too far. Perhaps it’s just my own stage of life, but I feel like fantasy for a lot of mums would be waking in a bed sans children after the stars have set. And here is the problem: after enduring weeks and weeks of a glistening, pink media assault…
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When I Had a Seahorse 