One of the nice things about getting older is knowing you don’t need to have had all your ducks in a row. Even as a kid, I never had one of those polished answers to the question, “What do you want to be when you grow up?” I wasn’t dreaming of becoming a doctor, a lawyer, or anything particularly impressive.
But age brings the comforting realisation that the answer doesn’t have to be a profession to be purposeful. Sometimes, it turns out to be motherhood.
My daughters have promoted me to Mother Goose, which is a far better title than anything my younger self could ever have put on a vision board. Of course, no goose can be majestic all the time, and my goslings would be the first to tell you that I am just as often a silly goose.
