OF ALL THE ACHIEVEMENTS IN HER LIFE, BEING A MUM TO THREE-YEAR-OLD LOLA IS WHAT DJ SARA COX IS MOST PROUD OF. AS SHE EAGERLY AWAITS THE BIRTH OF HER SECOND CHILD LATER THIS MONTH, SARA, 33, REVEALS THE TRUE JOY OF MOTHERHOOD

MAY I start by wishing all you mums out there a Happy Mother’s Day.

You’ll know if you’re a mum because there’s one glaringly obvious clue – when a small person, who looks a bit like you, walks past on their way to the fridge/sofa/sandpit, you won’t be able to resist the urge to spit on a Kleenex and give them a licky tissue wash.

I’m conducting an investigation into whether a microchip is implanted by dark forces into the necks of new mums as their offspring arrive, pink and mewling, into the world.

This microchip denies the mum the ability to stay awake until the end credits of a film.

It makes them cry at random songs on the radio, soap opera weddings and adverts, be they for house insurance or spreadable butter.

If this applies to you, congratulations, you’ve procreated, so Happy Mother’s Day!

This warm wish also extends to stepmothers of the non-wicked variety and to grandmas, for they are the ones who really deserve the praise on this special day.

My mum has a fridge magnet photo frame containing a snap of my daughter Lola and her cousin Isobelle, with an inscription that reads: “If I’d known grandchildren were this much fun, I’d have had them first.”

And if love really is a drug, grandmas can enjoy it without the nasty side effects of crushed crayons in the bottom of a prized Marc Jacobs handbag, or flapjack-lined pockets.

This is only fair, since grandmas did it all with us, and it never really stops.

Mum still tells me: “You’ll always be my baby” – a phrase I often repeat to Lola – and sends me hugs down the phone.

I’m 33. Luckily she’s stopped licky tissue washes.

But if you’re a mum to a teenage girl now, never fear, one day you will be appreciated and adored again.

You may just have to wait a while.

If there was such a thing as the teen Olympics, I’d have won gold in the door-slamming and tutting events.

But as soon as my daughter was born, I only wanted one person: my mum.

For the first time in a long while, I really, really needed her.
I had an epiphany. I saw into the future and foresaw the well-trodden path my relationship with my daughter would take.

I decided to check my theory with my mum and said to her: “So, basically, Lola will love, adore and need me until she’s about 12. From 12 to 20 I’ll do her head in.

"From 20 to her late 20s she’ll avoid my calls and treat me with mild disdain.

"Then by 30 she’ll have a baby of her own and will want me again?”

“Yup” said Mum. “That’s about it.”