Mother's Day - POV

Before I became a mother, I never TRULY (forgive the pun) understood Mother’s Day.

Of course, I celebrated it.

We had an incredible mum — the kind who somehow managed to taxi four girls across Brisbane to netball, piano, art, instrumental lessons… every sport imaginable. Gymnastics, rowing, touch football — even diving at one point.

And every year, I’d do what felt expected.

A box of chocolates grabbed the day before.
Winter pyjamas because… well, they were in season.

It felt like a commitment to a “Hallmark holiday.”
Something you do — not something you feel.

Now, it means something entirely different.

When you become a mother, people love to share the highlights.

Read this book. Buy this pram. Do this, try that.

What they don’t really talk about… is the shift.

The identity change.

When I had my first child, something profound happened — I was no longer defined as someone’s daughter, someone’s wife, or even the career I had worked so hard for.

I was now defined by this tiny human.

A little miracle I didn’t yet know… but was completely responsible for.

And the love?

It’s not always like the movies.

It doesn’t always arrive in one overwhelming, cinematic moment.

For me, it grew — quickly, yes — but alongside something just as powerful:

An unwavering sense of responsibility.
A deep, primal instinct to protect and nurture.

Something that takes over, whether you’re ready or not.

And then there’s the reality.

Breastfeeding? It hurts.
Like full-on, infected-pimple kind of pain — and that’s if your milk comes in.

The sleepless nights…
(So many sleepless nights.)

The moments where your child is sick, and you’re sick — but you don’t get to stop.
You choose them. Every time.

You lose your privacy — even going to the bathroom alone becomes a luxury.
Ten years in… I don’t even bother closing the door anymore.

Your body changes.
A body you’ve always known suddenly feels unfamiliar.

And then, somehow, you arrive at the first birthday.

That tiny, fragile baby placed on your chest a year ago…
is now smiling, laughing, eating, moving, communicating.

Becoming.

And you realise something:

The first birthday isn’t just about them.

It’s about you.

What you’ve endured.
What you’ve overcome.
What you’ve become.

This is the feeling of Mother’s Day for me!

So this Mother’s Day, my message is simple:

To the mothers —
well done.

However you’ve done it…
whatever your story looks like…

you’ve survived.

And that is something worth celebrating.

There will be seasons where we thrive —
and if that’s you right now, I’m so glad.

But for the ones in survival mode…

we see you.
We are with you.
Always.

To my mum — thank you.

You drove me crazy then… and you still do now.
But you gave us a life so full, so rich, so grounded in love.

Because of you, I know what love looks like —
and I get to pass that on to my own children.

And to my blessings — C, J, R… and our three stars in the sky 

Thank you for choosing me as your mum.
I’m trying my best.

And just a quick note for Sunday:

Please don’t get me a box of chocolates.
Or winter pyjamas.

Don’t wake me up early.

And whatever you do…

don’t make me do the laundry.

From our family to yours,
Happy Mother’s Day.