We mothers, we can’t help it.
Without ever meaning to, we embarrass our boys at every end and turn.
No matter how big and ugly they get, they’re our babies still. I often reminisce to my son about the sweet little things he did when he was little. Like insist on going to Tesco’s in his Batman suit.
And then there was the more recent time I opened my son’s bedroom door, peered into the gloom and called sweetly (a rude awakening only makes him grumpy): “Time to get up for work, Piglet. Fancy a boiled egg and soldiers?”
Two of his mates, awoken from their slumbers on his sofa, have never let him hear the last of it.
Though surely the mother of former cage-fighter Alex Reid, who is bigger and uglier than most sons, waltzes off with the award for Most Cringe-worthy Mother.
She’s cheerily revealed to the nation they shared a bed until he was 13.
I have no problem with a lad snuggling up to his mum now and again; and 13 is no age at all.
But even I recognise she’d gone a step too far down Mother’s Memory Lane.
How will the cross-dressing, publicity-crazed, publicly dumped hubbie ever manage to rebuild his reputation?