It’s Mothering Sunday today, Mother’s Day. I have spent some lovely time with my Mum, along with Dad and my brother. I cooked Sunday lunch. Mum had presents.

I know I’m very lucky to be so close to my own Mum, both literally and metaphorically. She’s a walk or a very short car ride away, and is totally supportive of me, even when I am at my least rational and most chaotic. She’s an inspiration in how she has raised me and brother, realising that my brother has special needs when he was a baby and fighting for support and information, along with my dad. All this at a time when his condition really wasn’t understood and attitudes towards people with developmental difficulties were less enlightened than they are now. She’s supported the family both by not working and working. She’s fought cancer. She is kind and lovely. I hope I am just a little bit like her in personality (we are certainly alike in looks).

I’m forty years old and I’m not a Mum myself. At this age, I’m resigned to the fact that I am highly unlikely to be one, biologically at any rate. I’m geriatric. Like anyone, I wonder about what ifs, but I don’t dwell on them. I’m fortunate that I have special people in my life, whose friendship extends beyond themselves to encompass their families. It’s really precious to share parts of the experience of family life with them.

Mum’s diagnosis and cancer treatment has inspired my sponsored 10,000 steps a day through March and, of course, she’s my biggest supporter and cheerleader. I’m almost at my target already today so should sail past it with ease. Happy Mother’s Day

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