I Love you, Mom

I stared at her from the bedroom door, suddenly finding myself looking at this woman whom I’ve lived 20 years with, from a different light.

The crowfeet under her eyes seem more obvious now, yet they seem to give her a characteristic smile when we manage to amuse her with witty comments. She is blow-drying her hair, like how she normally does after washing her hair and I cannot help but chuckle to myself as she gently lifted sections of her hair to blow-dry, as though her hair was most delicately precious to her. In fact, her hair is. 10 years of experimenting and getting chided during my childhood has taught me that. I watch as she lifted her fair arms which must have been much toned from basketball sessions and lifting piles of heavy textbooks. The outline of a little bulge appears beneath the body-hugging red blouse she has on, a testament of 3 pregnancies and 20 odd years of motherhood. She puts down the hair-dryer and finally notices me grinning from ear to ear.

Instead of exuding the airs of a 50 year old woman who has undergone hardships and survived through them, I can not help but marvel at how cute and naïve she comes across as. Cute is not a normal adjective used to describe mothers. But she really is. I have a sudden urge to proclaim how cute I think she is, to everyone, anyone who is willing to listen. I could go on and on, churning never-ending episodes of her, but you would not be interested to hear all of them anyway.

And that’s the dearest woman in my life. The reason why Mother's Day is worth commemorating.