It's usually one of the busiest days of the year for restaurants and cafes but, as it was last year, Mothering Sunday is going to be a very different, quiet cousin to the kind of celebrations us mums normally get to look forward at this time of the year.
I know there are lots of amazing partners, husbands and children out there who'll happily don a pinny and cook up a storm but, in my house, and in my family, the options are limited, a bit like their culinary knowledge.
My husband could stretch to bunging a few frozen pizzas in the oven, my son is a whizz at instant noodles and while my daughter, fantastic little baker that she is, could easily whip up a gorgeous pudding, this mum cannot live on cake alone.
I know this after last year's efforts, when they produced a bacon sandwich so underdone that I had flashbacks to my teenage years, when my then boyfriend produced something similar.
I ate it, not wanting to hurt his feelings, and ended up with the worst bout of food poisoning I've ever experienced. In my delirium, in the midst of the eight hours that it took for me to come out the other end of being so very ill, I remember the group of girls I was sharing with standing around me, debating whether or not they needed to call an ambulance.
Seared into my memory was the moment when my least favourite of these flatmates, a willowy, emotionally distant home counties girl, announced, 'Well, at least she'll get a few pounds off".
It wasn't the insult that has tormented me all these years later, but the fact that I was so ill and so weak that I couldn't summon the colourful words I wanted to tell her exactly where I'd like her to go and to offer to help pack her bags for the journey. You'll not be surprised to learn we didn't stay in touch after she moved out a few months later.
I confess that, with this in mind, I may have slipped the sandwich to the dog last Mother's Day and instead decided on what I thought was the safer option, a double portion of the delicious sticky toffee pudding my eldest had made, drowned in the tastiest salted caramel sauce I'd ever eaten and swimming in custard.
I ended up with a sugar rush so intense and prolonged that I developed a headache and then fell asleep for the rest of the afternoon, missing most of Mothering Sunday and my chance to be waited on hand and foot.
To avoid something similar occurring tomorrow, I've been dropping massive hints to the kids and my husband that what I'd really love to do is order take away from our local fish and chip shop, take it round to my mum's house and sit in her garden while we munch down on some battered cod.
That way my family can avoid the unnecessary stress of trying to create something that will very likely end up inedible, I can avoid the worry of having to eat it and, an added bonus, we get to eat with my mum and still have some semblance of being together for a special meal.
I'll miss getting hugs and laughing around the table of course but, at the same time, I'm just very thankful that everyone is healthy and as happy as they can be living under current conditions.
I'm already planning a great big extended family gathering in the future when restaurants and cafes are open again and we can dine out together, eating gorgeous food and making up for all the important events, like Mother's Day, that we missed out on.
This weekend should have been even more special than normal because, as well as the celebrations tomorrow, my granny is celebrating her 90th birthday. I'd love nothing more than stepping foot into her home for the first time in a year, giving her a cuddle and saying thank you for all she's done for us.
Sadly, it's not to be but I hope she, and all you marvellous mums and grannies, have a fabulous day tomorrow and get treated like the queens you are and may all your bacon sarnies be well cooked!