By Zoe Hanson

MOTHERING Sunday is the one day of the year when I can expect breakfast in bed right? Fat chance! Ok, she is only 4, so unless I’m after a packet of Monster Much I haven’t got much chance. I will be woken at about 5.26am, not by cute singing about how much she loves me, but by her screaming in my ear “Mummmmmmy, what are you doing?” and being smacked in the face with a My Little Pony. A quick cough in my face, to make damn sure I'm going to get that cold that the 15 oranges I ate the day before won't ward off. A foot in the eye as Lois climbs into my bed and demands to watch the iPad. I try and get her to say "happy Mother's Day." But she starts singing Happy birthday. It's okay, I'll take that. Last year trying to be the perfect mum, I offered Lois anything she'd like for breakfast, she chose an egg. So being the domestic goddess I am (I'm not) I made her scrambled egg on toast, well on bread, I couldn't be bothered to toast it. I even let her have ketchup as it was a special day. The egg got left, the bread got left, the ketchup got licked off the plate and spilt down her front.

Listen to Zoe on Heart Breakfast weekdays 6-10 and follow on twitter @zoehanson1

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