I am a mother, and I am.

As I drag my tired body along the landing at 1.52am, muttering angrily about the nightly bed swapping, I feel a wave of guilt for not simply throwing a welcoming arm around my son and ushering him into my bed. As a mother, I am supposed to always put my children’s needs above my own desires. His need for comfort and company at night, is greater than my desire for an uninterrupted night’s sleep. For maternal love is selfless; children have needs which must be met, and mothers only desires which can be cast aside and, if met, have been selfishly pursued.

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