I wanted one hour where nobody said Mum

Dear Delyara, Not because I don’t love hearing it. Because yesterday it felt like every version of that word came with a task attached. Mum, where’s my charger. Mum, can you sign this. Mum, he took my pen. Mum, are you listening. Mum, what’s for dinner. Mum, can I show you something. Mum, where are my trainers. By evening, the word itself had started feeling like a doorbell inside my body. I answered every time. Some answers were softer than others. Some were softer than I felt. And then I went upstairs and sat on the edge of the bed for a minute with the door closed, not because I was having a breakdown, but because I needed one tiny stretch of life where my name was not also my job description.