Mother’s Day is this weekend. It’s had me thinking about the mother-daughter relationship. Relationships change over the years, and it’s no different for a relationship between a mother and a daughter.
As little girls we need Mommy to hold our hands, keep us safe, and kiss our owies. We walk around in her shoes, want to wear her jewelry, and be grown up like her. She’s our loudest cheerleader, our number one fan. We look to her for our needs: food, clothes, comfort, support.
Then as we grow, things start to shift. Walking us into class and getting a hug and a kiss before school becomes, “See ya, Mom!” as we jet out of the car and run off to find our friends. Letting her help put on our jacket on cool mornings turns into, “Mom! I’m fine. It’s not that cold.”
When we start exploring who we want to be and what we want to do as teenagers, it causes friction. Sometimes, the more she wants us to take one path, the more we decide to take the other. We roll our eyes. We slam doors. We yell, “Whatever!” as we walk away.
What we don’t see is that she really isn’t trying to make our life miserable. She’s not trying to take away all the fun. She’s looking out for us. No matter how grown up we think we are, she still wants to protect us. That’s what mothers do.
As we strive to do more and more on our own we forget to think about how she feels each time we no longer want or need her help. When we decide where to go to college, who to date, or who to marry, we forget that it impacts her too.
You see, Moms have hopes and dreams for their little girls. They may want us to grow up and attend a certain school, choose a certain career path, marry a certain type of guy, and provide grandkids to spoil.
We may not follow her plans for us because we have to figure out our own hopes and dreams.
We grow up. We move out. We get married. We make our own choices. Sometimes we ask her advice. Other times we tell her to butt out. What we should remember as daughters is that even if we are all grown up, Mom still wants the best for us. And, whether I’m three, or thirty-three, I still need her to be my loudest cheerleader.
Mom, I love you for every cuddle, every kiss, every meal, every load of laundry, every punishment, every struggle – every day.