Dear Momma…

I have plenty of sappy things that I want to say about my mother and what she means to me. The woman truly was born to be a mother first, and everything else second.

From my earliest of memories, I always remember my mother being there. We were fortunate to have her as a stay-at-home mom. All my cuts and bruises were tended to right away. I was hugged and kissed probably more often than the average kid. I even got love pats on my tushy a lot. There was always enough love to go around. You didn’t have to ask my mom what was the most important thing in her life, it was obviously her kids. Even as a young child I instinctively knew that she would always help us and NEVER hurt us.

Growing up my mom really got on my nerves. 🙂
I felt like I knew everything and she was just being nosy; always wanting to be involved in my business. This was challenging because I didn’t like people to know when something was wrong and I kept my problems a secret from her. What did she know about it anyway? Probably everything since she was once a young girl herself. But hey, hind sight is 20/20. This isn’t to say that I didn’t appreciate her. As I aged and matured I realized how silly I was to try keeping her out. Through all of that, I never disrespected her. Over the years when I saw friends or relatives get attitude or mouthy with their mother’s it always baffled me for two reasons: 1. I would never have the nerve to disrespect her so terribly and 2. There is no way I would have gotten away with it.

I really tested my mother’s strength in July 2005. Up to that point the worst thing I had done was forgotten to call her when I wasn’t coming home on time, and drank some alcohol like most teens these days. (I’d like to point out that I didn’t get wasted and never got in trouble with the law. Hope that counts for something.) I was 19 and had been out of high school for two years. My high school boyfriend and I were going our separate ways and I had just moved back home with my parents. Sitting on the couch watching TV with her, I told her I was pregnant. I apologized and told her that I didn’t plan this. I probably apologized a few times. I distinctly remember that I wasn’t afraid of her and I knew she would support me through all of the process; I was upset because I didn’t want to disappoint her. I was mostly concerned with her being let down. Her opinion matters so much to me. She cried a little bit, and then hugged me. She called my dad who was working in another city at the time. Within the hour we were at the dog park with the dogs and discussing the plans of how to make this work. March 2nd, 2006 her first grandbaby was born. I wanted my mom with me the whole time, even more than I wanted the dad near me that day, however only one person can be in the room during a c-section.

I didn’t read any books about parenting. Not a single one. I read the books about pregnancy but ignored the ones about what to expect in the first year. I had my mom with me in this after all. Plus I had been around so many cousins and second cousins over the years that I had handled plenty of babies. I decided that what worked for my mom would work for me. So I trusted her and my instincts to raise my daughter. Over the last six years I have raised her on the values and principles that my mom used and I’d like to think that like any good parent, I’m doing it a little better. I hope that Halle will do it a little better than me when that time comes.

We are by no means perfect, but if there’s one thing above all others that my family knows, it’s that we love each other with every fiber of our being and nothing is more important than each other.

Thank you mom for all that you have done for me as a child and as an adult. You are a true example that a good mother’s job doesn’t end the day your child turns eighteen. You still have my back and I’ll always have yours too.

It amuses me to say this, but I’d like to quote a famous rapper in his song to his mother,
There’s no way I can pay you back, but the plan is to show you that I understand. You are appreciated.”

2 thoughts on “Dear Momma…

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