Your mother tells me that this is the happiest she has ever known you, that when she watches you with your babies she is reminded of when you were a little girl fussing tenderly about your dolls. She tells me that you have always been a little mother, that you have always been generous and patient and kind. She tells me how proud your nan would have been if she could only see you now.
I have had the privilege of knowing you for half of my life, of being the recipient of your wrath when a plastic face was scratched or a stitch pulled. I have always known that to come between you and your baby would be akin to stepping between a tiger and her cub, because once I was the child that pulled your doll away from you by the arm and you wouldn’t look at me for hours.
In the dead of the night you are concentrated to the essence of you, feeding and patting and shushing and murmuring. You may think that I am sleeping but I am listening to you, learning from you. You are the mother that I want to be.
I know that it isn’t always as easy as you make it seem. I know that you have your frustrations, primarily with other people’s interference of your parenting rather than the babies themselves. I know that sometimes you feel as though your heart has been ripped out of your chest and divided, and left, skinless and raw, in those cots.
I just wanted to leave a note here to tell you that you amaze me, every day. That our children are growing up with the best mummy ever. That I’m proud to go to work so that you can stay home and teach them all that they need to know to be good people, that the babies I love are the babies I love because of you.
Thank you. They can’t thank you, so I’m thanking you on behalf of all of us, me and Balthazar and Lysander and Josephine-dog too. Thank you for all that you do for us, thank you for being this wonderful mum. We all love you more than words can say.