For that matter, what do fathers look like?
When I was pregnant with my first child, I had a dread, a real worry, about becoming a mother like all others. That being a mother would take away the self I knew and replace it with something generic. That becoming a person with a child-seat in the back of my car would mark me out as less than individual, that it would make me predictable and the same as other mothers.
I got over it, thank god. I've had a child-seat in the back of my car for more than eight years now, and I think nothing of it. In the last eight years, I have discovered that I'm a bit like a stick of Brighton rock − the same all the way through. I don’t mean I’m super-consistent, or not changeable. Just that I’m still recognisably myself although I’m now a mother.
So what do mothers look like? Here are a couple that I like. Lovely junk-shop finds.