I don’t have a mom anymore, but I am one. I don’t have a young daughter, but I was one. I had no idea how much I would love my kids until I had them, and I had no clue how much more I would miss having a mom until I became one.
A funny thing happens when you mom dies when you’re young. She turns into a super hero. In my memories, my mother is perfect; the quintessential SAHM who took her job as seriously as she would being the President. She is immortalized as someone who had all the answers, dried all the tears and did all the right things. Of course I remember the hard times I had with her, the fighting and crying and name calling (by me, not her) but now, as a mom myself, she has become the epitome of motherhood to me and how I wish for just one really long conversation with her about how the hell she did it all.
Of course, I’m blessed with my surrogate mothers, the mother superior of which is my Aunt Carla. She’s one of two sisters my mom had and her answer to my repeated question of how my mom did it is always the same “She didn’t have twins!” Yes, that’s one of the many reasons I love her. However, I also think it’s because my mom was blessed with the sweetest little boy on the planet in my brother. My children share none of his calm, play-by-myself-for hours attributes.
Now I know there are moms out there with crazy girls, but I can only speak from my experiences thus far. One of the best ways I can describe what it’s like to raise boys vs girls was encapsulated in a vacation to Cape Cod four years ago. If you’re my sister-in-law, you can stop reading because you’ve heard this one.