My mom was 25 when she birthed all 9 pounds 10 ounces of me out into the world. When I was 25? Well, I occasionally remembered to clean out the shower drain and set the DVR for The Bachelor…
Between me, my brother, and the little boy she watched when we were young, Merm was pinned under sleeping babies and toddlers for several years. And this was several years before Instascrolling gave you something to do for an hour while your kiddo got some much needed shut eye.
My mom made our Halloween costumes because we we growing up in the The Land Before Prime. And they were awesome.
But she told us to make our own lunches because pulling an Uncrustable out of the freezer and grabbing an apple just isn’t that hard. #GrowUpButtercup
My mom vacuumed our house and somehow didn’t murder me straight up dead when I would complain that I couldn’t hear the TV.
She has picked up the pieces, cooked the dinners, changed the diapers, wiped the tears, and read the books. She has taken the panicked phone calls, mended hearts, laughed at the jokes, and drank the wine.
Merm is my model for how to be a mom. Wherever I go, home will be where my mom is. And if I can manage to do half the job she is doing, my kids will be very lucky. Maybe one of them will even write me a blog post one day. Or I don’t know, osmosis it into everyone’s brains? Technology is moving fast, ya’ll.
With an endless supply of love for Merm on Mother’s Day and always,