Mom

It’s Mother’s Day and even though I celebrated with my mom yesterday, I’m still thinking about her and mentally celebrating her today. My mom and I did not get along when I was growing up (and that’s putting it nicely). I suppose it’s a combination of seeing things differently, being a lot alike, and a whole lot of stubbornness (and maybe one of us was an extra feisty and opinionated teenager). Growing up, I always knew I was loved. Sure, I found my mom’s rules annoying and ludicrous, and there were times when I literally believed my mom was psychotic, but I knew that she really did care about me. I remember being envious of my friends’ relationships with their moms. I didn’t agree with almost anything my mom said or did in my junior high through high school years. In all honesty, I can’t say I agree with everything now either, but what I do know is that everything she did, and everything she does, was because she loved me.

After I moved out of my parents’ home, things between my mom and I got a little better; a classic case of absence making the heart grow fonder if you will. As I grew older (and wiser!), we started hanging out more. We went shopping, to lunch, and just seemed to develop a slightly deeper connection. My pregnancy took our relationship to another level. While she’s always been rather opinionated and promptly provides advice whether you ask for it or not, I found myself really listening to her more and even finding value in what she was saying. Though we’ll never agree on anywhere close to everything, I have a newfound respect for her opinions; after all, she did raise two pretty awesome kids. ;)

Now that I have a daughter of my own, I get it. I get that you’ll do anything for your child and love them no matter what. Seeing my mom as a grandma is seeing real love. Sometimes I feel like I’ve been given an opportunity to poke my head into the past and see what it must’ve looked like when she cared for me as a baby. If you’d asked me a few years ago if I’d let my mom take care of my daughter during the day, I would’ve questioned your sanity and whether you should be allowed to freely roam the streets. Now, I couldn’t ask for a better person to help raise my baby. My mom is devoted, loving, and dedicated. There are two memories I will always remember: I will never forget the look of shock and pure joy when we told my mom she was going to be a grandma and I’ll never forget the elation, pride and love I saw in her when she held my baby girl for the first time. Despite the obstacles we’ve battled and those that are sure to come, I’m proud to call her mom. And I really, truly love her.

Christmas 2012

Thanksgiving 2015