WE don’t mark Mother’s Day in our house. I don’t attach any importance to it, in the same way as my mother didn’t believe in it.

However, this year I mention it in passing to my daughters, if only to serve as a reminder as to why they are here, who gave birth to them, who nurtured them and protected them, and who even now puts them first, above all else.

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I realise that the role of a parent is to do exactly that, but when children take a turn for the worse, speak to you disparagingly or ignore you, scowl at you and constantly criticise you, it is hard to remember times when they were little bundles of joy.

It is hard to conjure up those days when your child was polite and did everything you asked.

and even held your hand in public.

Older children are more independent so, perhaps stupidly, I always imagined they would be easier. But because they know what they want, it’s so much harder. They don’t like the meals you cook, the TV programmes you watch, the holidays you want to take.

And they don’t complain quietly.

For me, there’s a distinct feeling of having served my purpose. My daughters make it clear that our house is a temporary lodging until they find something better and I’m useful only for occasional lifts. I suppose I should be grateful that, with part-time jobs, they don’t ask me for money any more.

Is this increasingly difficult relationship the end result of all those years throwing my heart and soul into child-rearing, sacrificing what could have been a high-flying career and jet set lifestyle to mainly stay at home and change nappies? All that, only to be cast aside without a second glance.

Maybe as parents we should follow the examples set by certain members of the animal kingdom. Harp seals seem to have the right idea – mothers are highly dedicated for the first 12 days, not eating at all during that period. Unfortunately, once the feeding is over, that’s it for mother-child bonding. She’s out of there, ready to mate again. I’m not so sure about that bit – I last gave birth almost 17 years ago and I’m still not ready to mate again.

Or rabbit mothers, who leave the burrow after giving birth and only stop by for a few minutes each day afterwards in order to feed the litter. After less than a month, the youngsters are left.

to fend for themselves.

Maybe I’ve done too much. What my daughters don’t realise is that they will probably never again come across anyone who will do more than I have. I might drop that into conversation on Sunday.