A Tribute to my Mother During the Christmas Season…

…because doing it on the first sunday of May is so mainstream. And I’m right, right? Mother’s Day is on the first sunday of May? Anyway…

Everytime I get a bad haircut, my mom makes it a point to say that it really suits me, every goddamn minute. And I have two theories on why she consistently does this:
       a) She’s just tricking me into thinking that it looks good on me so that I wouldn’t whine about it until the next month or two. I can actually do that; or
       b) She just really thinks that it suits me.

Either way, I find it comforting because this is one of those few moments when my very unmotherly mother gets motherly. See, my mom, for the most part and in hindsight, raised me alone. And she acted more like a dad. Maybe that’s why we used to fight a lot. Which is also why I owe a lot of things to her. All people get cheesy at 3 in the morning! Everyone knows that! Geez.

Readers, one thing that you should know about girls is that we hate getting fat. We love food–chocolates, ice cream, cream puffs, name it–but we hate getting fat. (Fun fact: I like using the punctuation, –.) Now that just looked like 4/5 of this smiley: (–,) Ven, focus.

You kind of owe it to your mothers because they sacrificed 9 months of getting fat just for you. And I’m guessing that letting a whole person that weighs about 7 lbs. on the average pass through your vajayjay isn’t an easy feat either. And you think the fun stops there? No, no, no. She has to feed you! Through her nipples! My mom always says that she tried so hard to squeeze breastmilk out of her nips that it bled! I always feel an overwhelming guilt whenever she tells that story, after all those shouts and headaches that I gave her.

And I don’t know where I’m headed with this narration, really, because I’m writing this at 3 in the morning and this is already my second blog post since I woke up the previous morning and I’ve already ran out of witty ways to describe raising a child. I guess all I’m saying is that, unless your mom is a really horrible person who plays Russian roulette with you and when it’s your turn she fully loads the gun, the least you could do is to dedicate a whole blog post to her.

I’m so sweet, aren’t I? Ok, maybe a hug, too. And maybe some flowers even if she says flowers are a big waste of money because they’re gonna wilt, anyway. If she says that, maybe just give her a pot of plant. If she’s not big on plants, then just disregard the whole plant idea. Maybe chocolates are your best bet. Unless she’s diabetic. Oh dear chair, Ven, stop already! I’ve really got to invent some nice sounding alternative curse. Oh dear chair? Really, self? Really?

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