So last Sunday I was running around, getting ready to go out. The day had started wrong (by my estimate anyway) - I was late, the pancakes I made tasted horrible (why didn't I buy stevia? Why?), I was late to go and camp out to shout encouragement to my mates running the Bath Half (my loss more than theirs, because the Bath Half is awesomesauce), and, worst of all, it was raining, which meant I couldn't wear my outfit of choice to the BrizBlogMeet.
As I got ready, and with mounting frustation, I looked at myself in the mirror and thought, "God, I look like my mother." (The fact that my bag, a Christmas gift from her, was giving me trouble, didn't help things.)
Why was this such a big deal? My mother is lovely. I sure wouldn't mind being compared to her. But for some reason at that moment, I was frustrated with being like her.
And I think perhaps this is an issue we all face at some point or another, when we think we're too much like our parents and not enough of ourselves. Which is a valid point - sometimes, despite what other people tell you is best, you need to strike out and do your own thing (be it your own business or just wearing a statement skirt.)
But I don't want to focus on those times. Instead, today, allow me to appreciate my mother for everything she does for me.
Thank you, Mum, for looking after me, not letting me fall into the dark places and helping me out of there.
Thank you for reading my essays and sharing my enthusiasm, even if you don't necessarily "get" the hype.
Thank you for listening to me bitch about adult acne and sending me a moisturiser that might help.
Thank you for being you, and stay amazing for many more years.
I love you. Happy Mother's Day.
(P.S. the giant bag you gave me came handy when my paper ones tore from the rain.)