Mother

Day 49. 63 pages, 31,090 words.                       

Today is Mothers’ Day, so I should be writing an affectionate and admiring salute to Mrs. Hatboy and my dear old mum over in Australia, not to mention my amazing anoppi, my long-suffering sister-in-law Bella, and my beloved sister Clare who has long been my role model when it comes to dragging normal, well-adjusted and brilliant kids kicking and screaming into a world so profoundly and utterly broken.

So I guess I’ll do that, a little bit. I’ve got time.

Happy Mothers’ Day, to any and all of you who have brought a life into being, either biologically or adoptively. I’m told gestating a child is hard and I’m certainly not about to argue with that, and let nobody ever doubt my admiration for the hardship. But successfully producing a viable organism, and shaping a life, are two very different animals. One, for example, is just an animal.

Raising a human being is … it’s a forever type of thing. And if you’re doing it, you are a goddamn hero.

You’re polishing an evolutionary and genetic turd, and you have to know that by now, but you never stop for a single minute. You are fucking unbelievable. Gender equality and sensitivity be damned – if we make it to the next decade, let alone the next century, it will be because of mothers, and in spite of fathers.

Thank you all.

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