So this week my mother had her (ahem) 29th Birthday. I guess that doesn’t really work out since I have already told you that I am 31, but I remember my mom telling me when I was about 7 or 8 that she was turning 29 again and that year. And then when I was 11 I think she turned 29 again so we’ll just say she is perpetually 29 until she lets me know otherwise.
I give my mom a hard time. I mean, I was a perfect child, of course. I made perfect grades and behaved perfectly well in school. I didn’t drink in high school or do drugs or have sex or make her stay up late wondering where I was.
But I was difficult in other ways. She probably should have known when I was three. One day I asked her how rainbows were made and she said, “God makes rainbows.” And my response was, “That’s not what Dad says. He says that they are formed when the sun hits the water droplets, and that forms a prism which makes the colors of the rainbow.” What was it she told me recently? It was something along the lines of, “I pray every night that the child growing inside of you is strong-willed.” I think that strong-willed may be a nice way of saying something else 🙂
And besides being strong-willed, I know I could be mean. I once told my mom that she was the biggest mom on the block (which wasn’t even remotely true – but I’m sure it felt great anyway). And when I got older I know I complained that she was mean and that I didn’t get enough hugs and that she never says I’m sorry and that she was the cause of my anxiety issues. (Also probably not true).
But the truth is that she was and is the perfect mom for me. I love that her first reaction to stress is to make a batch of chocolate chip cookies. I love that she is really uncomfortable with the f-word even though she says it herself sometimes. I love that she gives love pats instead of full out hugs because she doesn’t like to feel confined. And don’t tell anyone (especially my husband), but I love that I can see more and more of her in myself every day. Maybe its because I am in my thirties and finally old enough to appreciate it, or maybe its because I am pregnant and about to have my own daughter, but I finally get it. And for her birthday, I just want to say thank you to the beautiful, intelligent, goofy, wonderful woman who raised me and made me who I am today. Thank you, Mom, and happy birthday.