To My Mommy on Mothers Day
Mike Tyson is a total wimp. When it comes to being a fighter no one has my Mommy beat. To get me here my Mommy fought infertility, people’s ill-timed comments, phobia of needles, pain of miscarriages, 8 months of bed rest, self-doubt, and a dozen or so other foes all at the ame time. My Mommy not only created me inside her womb she loves me to a fault now that I am here.
My Mommy, like many other Mommies, works a lot. I can see it in her face every time she leave to go to her pharmacy that it kills her to leave me. When she comes home from the pharmacy I can’t wait to run to her glowing smile and warm hug. I never doubt my Mommy loves me. Mommy thinks of me relentlessly. If I am sick she makes herself sick with concern. When I want to be held she will sit with me and not move an inch so I may be comfortable. Her body will be aching because she does not want me to have to move. My Mommy puts me first. That’s what a Mommy does.
I can be crabby, pushy, and borderline mean. Mommy never holds this against me. She has pride in me and never stops bragging about how smart and cute I am. I want for nothing because Mommy would have it no other way. Mommy waited a long time for me and she never forgets this. She thought I would have been named Figment because the possibility of being a Mommy was a figment of her imagination. I love my Mommy because she lives to make me happy and safe. Happy Mothers Day Mommy.
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