My Mom, My Hero

No, my mother is not my sandwich. Adding Luckey to my life has definitely given me a new found appreciation for all the love and attention my mom doused on me like warm maple syrup on a hot pancake (yeesh, did I just liken myself to a pancake!?!).

Yesterday, as my mom hugged and coddled Luckey to the point of making me nauseous, I felt no envy--but it did make me nostalgic for the days that my mother used to do that to me. By days, I mean YEARS. Up until the age of about 19, my mother would routinely come into my room at night and in the morning to ensure I was well tucked and lay a sloppy kiss on my cheek (invariably she missed, because I was ducking for cover and hit my ear!). To this day I squirm when anything liquid hits an ear--memories of sloppy kisses and cheek-turning unconsciously flood my mind. But the truth is, when I hit 20 (or was it 22?) I think she finally got the message and stopped. The ceasing and desisting in lieu of filling me with the anticipated euphoria saddened me a bit. I mean, was I too old to dote on?

Part of the realization that dawned is that I'm not all that different than my mom. Yes, she's a Republican and NO I am not. Yes, she's a baby-loving pediatrician, and I'm an anti-baby machine. Yes, she's a God-fearing, church-going, borderline evangelist and I just believe silently in my corner. She's someone with uncompromising integrity and strong values and I'm a proponent of doing what you gotta as long as you don't hurt yourself too badly in the process. No, we're not all that similar but I suppose we want similar things. We want to be loved. We want to be valued. We want to reign supreme. We want more--more than there is to be wanted....yes, I'm my mother's daughter and I'm finally getting a sense of just what that means.

As my mom showered Luckey with the love one only reserves for a gran-puppy, I realized that this person who gave me life was the most loving, affectionate, sweet woman in all the world. Now, don't be fooled--my mom and I argue routinely but over the years the heat behind the words have cooled to the temperature of tepid bathwater. I don't know if she's mellowed out or it's me--maybe it's both, but our arguments are few and far between and while I'll never be that daughter who kisses and hugs her mother, spilling saccharine epithets whilst doing so...I'm also no longer that child who refers to her only parent-worth-mentioning as "the tyrannical mothership!". If this isn't maturity, I don't know what is.