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  • When I was a kid, I loved my mom with this intense feeling that I (naturally) no longer have. One of my safe and happy places will always be lying in my parents’ bed with her at night, reading until my eyes closed, and then curling against her side to fall asleep while she stayed up. My dad worked late and he would move me back to my room when he came home.

    Did you know that children under the age of three can think of themselves and their mother as one person? When I was like 6 or 7, I had this almost physical love for her. If I can Freud out on myself for a second, I think it was part of dealing with the realization that you are no longer attached like that. And when I was sleeping at her side, I would imagine being, like, absorbed back into her skin. Weird kid, huh?

    But of course, things are more normal now. I was embarrassed by her singing as a 10 year old. I had flashes of misplaced hatred for her when I was 16. I still get incredibly annoyed at her short attention span and for asking my friends nosy questions. I resent her for playing dumb sometimes and for not standing up to my dad. (Who I love too! Except I didn’t grow inside him.) But I call her to talk about whatever and the serious stuff. I now see how her silliness brings laughter and lightness to almost all situations. She celebrates and grieves those basic, great life events like funerals and weddings with such earnestness and compassion. She has incredible penmanship. I love her so much.
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