It was the way she said, “Is that you?”  She looked up at me for confirmation and then back to the photograph.  “You look, pretty…”.  She looked back at me and smiled again.  There was a pride in her eyes. I got the inference.  I don’t look pretty now.  I am not one of the pretty mums.  I am not one of the cool mums.  I am her mum and she loves me, would not swop me, but there is still a piece of her that wishes I were all of it.  A mum she could be proud of, not just love. I