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    Friday 30 December 2011

    Being Mother

    In a moment of clarity, rare these days, I felt a surge of overwhelming pride in myself for being a mother. Not to sound trite, but it is a privilege and an honour to wear the maternal crown. There is truly no more important role in this world, there is no job whose value outweighs the responsibility of a mother.

    In the animal kingdom, a mother fox caught in a trap will chew off her own foot to get back to her kits. The gentlest of creatures will turn ferocious in the face of danger to protect her young. The love I feel towards my children would see me move mountains if that is what it took to prevent my babies from being harmed.

    That is not to suggest, however, that giving birth to a child should  automatically grant the bearer the right to such an honourable title. I believe such respect needs to be earned.

    Over Christmas, my mum was showing my sisters and me the handful of treasures that my nan had kept through her life. I'd seen them all before, but there was one tiny almost worthless brooch I'd never noticed. Just a thin piece of gold-plated metal shaped into the single word "mother" and adorned with a small, pink stone. The brooch was a gift nan had given to her mother. A gift of a title she had earned.

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