Until she died, my mama, when she was in a good way at least, would either sneak into my bedroom or call me in the early morning hours of January 9 and say, “Good Morning, pumpkin! It’s 5:52 a.m. and that’s my favorite minute because that’s the very moment that you came into the world and into my life. Happy Birthday, baby! I sure do love you, So-So.”
My mom and I had a turbulent, bitter, often sad relationship. She was a drug addict and her addiction took away so much from us. It took away my belief in her and in my belief in others’ intentions.. .However, for a few pre-dawn minutes every January 9, I believed that all was right in the world. I was secure.
Our relationship combined with the overwhelming fear that I would pass the gene of addiction along to a child, made me claim that I had no desire to ever be a mother. And, that held true until my early thirties. At that time, my desire to have a child defied the healthy helpings of pragmatic logic that I had fed myself for decades. I couldn’t shake it. It was damn near primal. And, when after a year of trying, I got pregnant, I felt happiness that I never knew existed, a happiness that was only outdone on the day that I held my perfect, early-to-the-party, yellow-tinged baby girl.
With my daughter in the world, I knew that I would defeat any monster, slay any dragon just to see the best gap-toothed smile this side of Lauren Hutton. I knew that my food would always taste better because it would be seasoned with her infectious laugh, a giggle so profound that it can pull me out of the deepest funks.
My kid has a hard time reading the room, but she has impeccable timing. She makes me belly laugh every day. She is as messy as I am neat. She is as comfortable as anyone I’ve ever met in her own skin. She doesn’t like to read and she reminds me of it just to get a rise out of me. The kid would eat cheese pizza every day of her life if she could. She gives the best hugs. She always remembers to ask her dad how his day was when he gets home from work and she texts her grandparents every night at 8:30pm. She’s always up for an adventure, but she appreciates a lazy day on the couch. She is the kindest most empathetic person I have ever had the pleasure of knowing. She makes me realize that I want to leave a better world for her, that I will always fight for her. She is my most important job and getting to be her mama is the main reason that I am happy that I was born.
She made me realize exactly how fortunate I was by giving me the best gift I have ever received for my 44th birthday. It made me feel more secure and loved than those pre-dawn birthday chats with my mom. She gave me a jar filled with “44 Things I Love About You”. They made me laugh. They made me cry. They made me know that I would live through the heartbreak, the fear, the poverty, the insecurity and any and everything else life threw at me a million times over to be her mom.
Some of my favorites from my jar of love:
- How forgiving you are.
- How I can tell you anything.
- How you never give up.
- How you have a love/hate relationship with outside.
- How you make me laugh.
- How crazy your hair is.
- How you pat people when you show affection.
- How you always “need” foot rubs (lol).
36, How your left hip is older than the rest of your body.
And, my absolute favorite one was number 26: how you are awkward but kind.
Thanks for seeing me and loving all of me, my girl.
This article was written by a guest blogger. The opinions expressed here are those of the writer and do not reflect the opinions of Bob Lacey, Sheri Lynch or the Bob & Sheri show.
Soshally Awkward
Sosha Lewis is a writer whose work has been featured in The Washington Post, Huffington Post, MUTHA Magazine and The Charlotte Observer. She writes about her sometimes wild, sometimes hilarious, sometimes heartbreaking past filled with free-lunches, a grimy sports bar, a six foot tall Albino woman who tried to save her teenage soul, felonious, drug addicted parents, an imaginary friend named Blueberry and growing up nestled in the coal-dusted mountains of West Virginia.
