Mother

When I was thirteen, I thought my mom was the worst mom in the whole world. I was certain that she didn’t know anything at all, and what was with all this insisting that I do my chores, clean my room, and help around the house? Didn’t she know that was her job? I mean, what else are moms for, right? But somehow in the last decade, my mom has transformed into an almost-perfect mother. In fact, you might even call it miraculous.

I’m sure when my mother held me in her arms for the first time, twenty-four hours after her labor started, she couldn’t possibly have understood what the next twenty-four years would bring. Nineteen months after I came along, my first sibling made his appearance on the scene, to be followed by six more at irregular intervals. My dad was still finishing his undergraduate when I was born, and was working on his Masters degrees for the next three kids; we moved in between child number four and child number five, and then again between children six and seven. Child number eight, our last, was born during the first semester of my senior year of high school.

Some might question the wisdom of having eight children in such a world as this one is, but I will be forever grateful for a mother that had the courage to welcome each one of us into this world, to hold us and love us, and with our father, guide us through the many challenges that make up life. My mother has sacrificed – willingly – many things for our sake, from her career goals and her Masters degree to sleepless nights spent comforting sick children. She has given all her time, her effort, her attention, and most importantly, her heart to us.

Growing up I might not have had fancy toys or exotic vacations, and the only car I got on my sixteenth birthday was a Hot Wheels, but I had something much more precious: my mother’s unconditional love and support. I always knew that whatever mistake I made, whatever I did or didn’t do, however upset she was with me, she would always love me and want me to be happy. Sometimes I resented that, but she never gave in to my tantrums or sulks. Her constant patience and love, her continual effort to become a better woman and mother, has anchored me amidst the many difficult and confusing experiences of growing up. Whoever I have become in these last twenty-four years, whatever kind of mother I myself may become in the future, I owe it to my mom.