By Irma Ikram
My mom tells me her pregnancy with me was difficult. Apparently I had a kick boxing style that wouldn’t let her sleep at night, a picky pallet that wouldn’t let her eat a morsel, and a fashion sense that made her give up all her nice clothes. And for nine months when the humble abode of my mother’s womb was not spacious enough for me or my big ego, therefore I demanded that I be brought in to this world in style. Not only was I born 3 weeks early, inadvertently stealing my big sister’s birthday (hey that was just an added bonus), but also, I was a C-section. But it seems the tyranny that was the form of me did not end there.
I would get hungry when she needed to bathe, When she was about to eat my body would result to its natural means and not only prevent her from eating but actually refrain for a little while. I believed the best time to play was at night in bed particularly when mom wanted to sleep.
Her cloths crisp from my vomit as I had no other means to tell her I did not like what she was wearing, her skull sore from my pulling her hair, as it did not make sense to me why I should be bald and she have lustrous locks while I be bald. The 90′s fashion of hoop earrings was only but a dream for my mother as I would have none of it.
Though out the years you would think that after a bit of brain development would have dawned upon me, or a few shreds of sense may have enlightened me but alas, other than more skillful control over bodily functions at the dinner table, I didn’t stop bothering my mother.
I hated going to school, I didn’t own a pair of jeans that weren’t ripped at the knees, and I feel off my bikes and trees countless times. One particular injury I received on my face as a child was when I split my face open playing Marco Polo (the honest way), it was an inch below my temple, and half an inch below my eye ball but it was my mom who wasn’t well for a week after I was injured.
That was only my childhood i.e. that was only the trailer. The movie of my teenage years wasn’t any sort of golden era that anyone wants to take a walk down memory lane, but at least now in my early 20′s I can vouch at the very least for having a speck of awareness, and an enormous amount of appreciation for all that my mom has put up with over the years and done for me simply out of the sake of love. You loved me the most when I deserved it the least. The only way I can ever repay you is by loving my future kids with the same intensity when karma decides to give me a taste of my own medicine. I love you mom happy mothers day.