Isn’t this the one day of the year when I can expect breakfast in bed? Fat chance! Ok, she is only 2, so my daughter can’t really be trusted to make a decent cuppa. 
I was woken at 5.26am this Mothering Sunday, not by cute gurgling, but “mummmmmmyyyyyy!” Being screamed straight into my ear and being smacked in the face with a bottle. A quick cough in my face, to make damn sure I’m going to get that cold that the 15 oranges I ate yesterday won’t ward off. A foot in the eye as Lois climbs into my bed and demands to watch Frozen. I try and get her to say “happy Mother’s Day.” She says “happy birthday mummy!” It’s okay, I’ll take that.
Trying to be the perfect mum, I offer Lois anything she’d like for breakfast, she chooses an egg. So being the domestic goddess I am (I’m not) I make her scrambled egg on toast, well on bread, I couldn’t be bothered to toast it. I even let her have ketchup as it’s a special day. The egg gets left, the bread gets left, the ketchup gets licked up and spilt down her front.
I have Heart on the radio, they’re playing Adele, Make You Feel my Love, I start singing the beautiful words to my little girl, I don’t think it sounds that bad. It’s greeted with a “Noooo, Noooo, Nooo, stop singing mummy!”
It’s only 9.30……gonna be a long Mothering Sunday. Xxx

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