It’s Mother’s Day today, and I forgot to hit the scheduled post button, so you’re going to be reading this long after breakfast. A breakfast that, I hope, you made for your dear mommy if you had the chance. After all, who washed out your injured knee, somehow tolerating your wails of despair as the most excruciating pain in existence was delivered upon you? Who was it who braved your wrath, willing to live with your eternal ire in exchange for nothing more than your wellbeing? That’s right, it was mother.
And who was it who hugged you when you had a bad day at school? Who cradled your tiny little head in her chest, and let you snuggle in there as long as you wanted? That’s right, it was mother.
And who was it who read you to sleep? Who was it who, occasionally, gave in, and read you the next chapter even though she had promised not to? Both of my parents took turns doing this, but mother gets at least partial credit.
Valentine’s Day is corporate garbage. International Wahmen’s Day is Globo Homo drek. But Mother’s Day is pleasant, sweet and wholesome. You should celebrate this by making your wahmon into a mother herself.