The “surprise” came at 0813 while I was propped up in bed, cajoling the internet to talk to me. “Oh!”, I said feigning an appropriate “surprise” and took the bouquet of flowers and cards and the hugs and kisses. My bedmate, still in deep slumber, stirred and turned to face the wall, perhaps dreaming about the adventures of his alter ego, Mat Sprong.
It is Mothering Sunday in the UK, thus the flowers and the cards and the hugs and kisses. And, of course a date for dinner on Tuesday.
As I gave the crystal vase a rinse, leaving the other half to help solve mysteries plaguing the best detective agency in Trengganu, I thought back to the days before their arrival. I had wanted ten but was blessed with seven; three didn’t quite make it. It was one miscarriage after another. Even our first just about made it after strict orders from the doctor to rest in bed.
The flowers now sit nicely and sort of blend quite well with the vase; the only vase I can safely say I own. And even then it was a present for emceeing an event. The flowers, like the vase, are delicate and precious; to be handled with care. A few petals inevitably dropped to the floor.
The children, who came in quick succession; one after another, came without any instructions or An Idiot’s Guide to Parenting: Especially Without Support of The Extended Family. So, we did it through trial and error and learn along the way. We are still learning; from the time we heard their first wail in the labour ward to the constant desperate calls of “Where are you and come back right now!”
Mothering can be a headache, a constant worry, and it can be rewarding. Even without the flowers in the morning such as this, the very mention of the word Mama, early in the morning, late at night or anytime at all, is very sweet to the ears.
The vase with the flowers whose names I am just too lazy to google, sits on the window sill where Snowbell had claimed squatter’s rights. I slipped back under the duvet to enjoy the rest of Mothering Sunday, taking comfort in sound of the soft snore coming from the other side of the bed. Presumably, Mat Sprong is about to close his case.