“I’m not moving out,” I warned her, holding up a shaky finger. “I’m never leaving home, Mam. I’m staying put where there’s a veteran of motherhood in residence—and a veteran of the ironing board.” Mam laughed again. “That’s another thing I’ll have to teach you.” “I will never iron.” “You won’t have a choice.” “Yes, I will,” I shot back. “I’ll buy all non-iron clothes for the baby to wear.” “And who, may I ask, will iron your clothes?” I rolled my eyes. “My mother, obviously.”
