After I picked the kids up from care this afternoon I ducked into the library on the way home. (I Love the Library, but that’s for another time.) Laura was having a tantrum on the footpath outside while I had Dylan in one arm and my books and bag in the other. I started walking off (as I do) and she screamed even louder. Apparently she didn’t want to go into the library today!

As I approached the doors there was an elderly couple pulling up in the disabled car space. The gentleman got out, got the walker for his wife and helped her up and out. They both noticed Laura immediately, (well, let’s be honest, she was pretty hard to miss!) and I could see them look at each other with a knowing look.

When they walked passed I made light of the situation (I’m generally not too fussed about the public tantrums and find the less I bother the shorter they are. Not that I enjoy them by any stretch, I still find it grates on my nerves and drives me slightly insane) and the elderly lady said, “We had five. I remember that!”

It’s interesting, I find as a Mum I seem to have the tendency to feel like I’m the only one that’s ever had difficult kids, the only one that get’s the massive tantrums over nothing, the only one that’s endured many a sleepless night. The truth is that women all over the world have been doing this for as long as people have roamed the planet.

It was a nice subtle reminder that No, I’m not on my own and Yes, I am doing OK.