IT’S been a tough week of mothering for me.

One child had conjunctivitis. So that meant incessant wiping of eyes with cotton wool, repeated shouts of ‘don’t rub them’ and the challenge of squirting eye drops at a small, blinking and wriggling target.

In the words of Miranda Hart, ‘such fun’, and I haven’t even mentioned the subsequent huge washing pile or the feeling of intense dread when another family member so much as raises a hand to their eyes.

Just as that horror was receding, the three year old decided it was a good week to come down with an ear infection.

(Anyone who doesn’t believe their children work as a team is deluded.)

So now you can add no sleep to the mix plus quite a lot of crying.

Not to mention an ill child who chooses the best, most energetic and smiliest half an hour of their entire week to happen while you’re at the doctor’s surgery trying to persuade a GP they are actually suffering.

I was kept going by the promise that I might be spoilt by surprises on mother’s day.

Although obviously I use the word surprise loosely.

I had an inkling what might be coming when the oldest child produced an early father’s day card and informed me it was what he’d done when he’d finished something he couldn’t tell me about in art at school.

And the little one, now on the up thanks to the wonders of penicillin, whispered in my ear that I could look forward to breakfast in bed, but not to tell anyone.

On the day itself, the children joined me for the promised breakfast but in true 21st century style brought a tablet with them because they were in the middle of a taking over the world in some online game.

So far, so normal, but then I watched the interview Martin Lewis gave about losing his mum when he was only 11.

The raw grief still apparent even so many years later was hard to watch.

He said he had struggled for years to cope with mother’s day - which is a sobering thought for all of us lucky enough to view this as a good day.

It was a great reminder that mother’s day is not about cards, presents or breakfast in bed - but rather the privilege just to be there.

Even - or maybe especially - for the tough weeks.