Normally I like my blog to be a happy place. But today I’m going to have a little cry and a moan and feel sorry for myself.
My mother raised my brother and I as a single mother. My dad was and is a d**k. So fair play, she did her bit to provide for us and make sure we never went without. I wouldn’t say that I felt unloved as a child – more that it was always plainly obvious that I was the least favourite child. A fact that didn’t really bother me that much until relatively recently. Yes, I would get upset when my mum defended my brother endlessly. When she would never stand up to him, when she would criticise me and not him, but I guess I just thought that was the way it was. I didn’t know any different and therefore I didn’t expect any different.
Times have changed now though, and I have grown up. I have children of my own. It makes me feel sick to think that I would favour one of my children. They are unique and different and both have their own faults. I am not blind to the faults of either of them and I try my best not to come down on a particular side. I also do a lot for my mother. I cook her meals, clean the house, subsidise her living and ferry her to various hospital appointments. I guess I am more angry now than I was because there is such a sense of unjustness – how can she still love my brother more when I do all this for her?
My brother has moved to Australia and I haven’t spoken to him for 7 years now. I am more than happy with that arrangement – we don’t get on. Forced apart by jealousy created mostly by our mother. My mother lives with us – paid for by us. Because otherwise she is on her own.
So she just got back from visiting the golden child. Her plane was delayed and they lost her suitcase. After a month of not seeing her pregnant daughter did she give me a hug or a kiss or thank me for sorting out everything related to her delay? Did she say she missed me or ask how the baby was? No of course not. She cried because her suitcase has a coat my brother bought her in. This was the most important thing to her. And her bag is not lost – they had located it in Singapore so she knows she will likely get it back. But still, a coat bought by my brother eclipses me completely.
I shouldn’t be shocked, or surprised or upset because I am so used to this by now. But I was upset. I was hurt. Because all you want your mother to do is love you. I see other people’s mum’s taking them out for lunch – buying them a couple of maternity tops, looking after the grandchildren for a couple of hours without moaning about it. I can’t help but wish sometimes that I had a mother like that, even for one day.
I know that it has made me a stronger mother. I hope to never put myself between my children. I love them both equally and I know that I have just as much love for their sibling to come. I know the value of a mother’s love and the hurt that comes when that love is not there. I love my children and I vow to always show them just how much.
I have linked this post up to #MumdayMonday