The Power of Mothers

As the years go by, mummy becomes less important to your daily life. You no longer need to cuddle her or hear her voice before you close up for the day. In fact, the less you hear from her on a yearly basis, the better.

It doesn't help too when all she does is nag - "have you made that application", "have you gotten your bonus", "you should be not be eating this much", and the list goes on. Plus, she is no longer fun. She doesn't wear the hippest clothes, she's embarrassing in front of your friends, and God help me if I ever bring her to yoga class. With her age, I do not trust her grasp on elasticity - its possible that she may let one rip during a stretch!

And so we go about our lives, meeting new people, creating a whole different us and taking risks. But when shit hits the fan, its mummy that is best. Nothing beats finally telling her your maze of issues that just spin webs in your head.

She sees things clearly. She knows you. She knows what you can and cannot do. She tells you. And when she says it, you believe it.

For me, my mum was the most important person in the world. I would call her numerous times during the day to chat - of course she did not have the time, she was working. And then I became a teenager, and the tables turned, she made the calls and I did not have the time, I was flirting. And then I grew up some more and became cool, I went to university, got myself a hip hop boyfriend. I didn't need to check in with her.

And then I got dumped. And all it took was one phone call for mummy to get on the next flight out to see me. She put up with my teary face and runny nose, tried to wrestle the phone from my hands as I called and grovelled with the ex and tried even to make more friends for me at uni, so that I wouldn't be all that sad. Of course I yelled at her. She's not cool, she's not supposed to show herself.

I got better, I graduated and landed a job and I found myself a new boyfriend. Mummy was not needed. In fact, the more she was not around the house, the better. I could sneak about doing tricks. In fact, I avoided her like the plague. And then I got dumped again.

It was mummy to the rescue. This time, it was 6 months of molly-coddling and mummy-on-call. She would have to stop tennis mid-game if I called crying, sleep over at my new apartment if I was remotely bored, dish out shopping money to stop the tears. Mummy was Room Service. Mummy was ATM.

I'm married now. I'm happy, and as usual, mummy is not required. And it isn't until right this very moment, as I sit down and write this, that I realize, you know what? Mummy really is best.

The interesting thing is, I meant to write about the power of mothers in general, the strength in that woman who breastfed her baby while trapped and badly bleeding under debris and about how women take upon themselves the huge decision to migrate for the betterment of a child that hasn't even formed in the belly.

But nothing of that sort materialized here. As I wrote, the only thing I could think about as I thought about the power of mothers, was my own.