In the wake of Mother’s Day, I’ve been contemplating the real lessons and sacrifices of what it takes to be a mother. Should someday, I lose my mind (read: get incredibly drunk) and tell my children the truth…I’m afraid that it’s going to sound painfully like the following list…
1. Kids, when you were babies, everything about your bodies was miraculous and beautiful, but now my biggest fear is that one of you will grow pubes, and that I might accidentally see them. I’m pretty sure you harbor the same fear, so let’s all just be cool, and keep this from happening, okay?
2. Children…loves of my life…there is NOTHING I wouldn’t do for you…NOTHING…except let you drink out of my glass. It’s fucking gross, and you’re old enough to get your own cup, so let’s make that happen, or I’m going to start backwashing on purpose.
3. The ten minute drive between your school and my work is the closest I will ever get to come to acting like an adult with a pulse. Yes, me, your mother, the same person who gets angry when someone says “ass” on the radio, has an entire playlist that revolves around the word “fuck”, just for that blissful ten minutes when you’re not in the car. Frankly, we’re all lucky that my commute isn’t long enough for me to get my hands on some porn and a bong.
4. For the love of Christ, what is wrong with you? The only thing I’ve learned after 15 years of parenting, is that you guys seem to spend every waking moment trying to think of increasingly bizarre and ridiculous ways to kill yourselves, and I spend every waking second trying to stop you. I’m not a parent…I’m a live-action suicide prevention hotline trapped in a pediatric clown college. Would you PLEASE fucking TRY and survive on your own for one day, damn it…I’m exhausted.
5. When asking you to do something, don’t I always ask nicely the first few times? After the fourth time…we all know the screaming begins. Why is it that you want me to scream? And why is it, after you’ve driven me to the point of screaming, do you have the audacity to look at me as though *I’m* the one who sucks?
6. Kids, a huge portion of my job, as your mother, is to pretend that I’m completely lame, and not remotely as awesome as I once was. Those lost weekends in Amsterdam…the time that I rappelled drunk, off the roof of my dorm…that college lesbian experience I had with the woman you now know as “Aunt Becky”…yeah…that shit didn’t happen. Did. Not. Happen.
7. Hey…still reeling from #6? Well, then strap in, kids, because your grandparents…well, I know things that would ruin your entire life. Because I don’t want your grandmother to kill me in my sleep, I’ll just say one thing…the sixties. Feel free to make your own assumptions.
8. Lastly, guys, as much as I’m joking about how hard this all is, (and it is…it’s unspeakably hard, especially because I’m raising you on my own) it has always, always, always, been so completely and totally worth it. Every sacrifice, every struggle, every day that ends with one of you slamming a door and telling me that I’m unfair, or that I suck…it’s still worth it. I promise I will love you with every moment I am given on the Earth. Each of you have exceeded every dream I’ve ever dared dream, and I’m so very happy to have been a part of setting you loose on this planet. I love you. The world is a better place because you are a part of it. Now…go kick some ass. And while you’re at it, let the dog out, clean your room, empty the dishwasher, and let me talk on the phone for thirty blissful minutes without interrupting to tell me how your sibling violated your basic civil rights. Thank you…thank you for being mine.