I want a mom who wakes me up in the morning, saying breakfast is ready. Mine does, but it feels like she’s obligated rather than willingly feeds us with, what do they call it? Ah, love.
I want a mom who says she’s proud of me even if I’ve only accomplished a minor thing that I think I should be proud of. Mine does, but mostly on my birthday.
I want a mom who does my nails and suggests which color is better for my skin tone. Mine did, then complained about how I should be doing more important things.
I want a mom I can share my crushes with, giggling over the minor interactions we had. Mine never does because whenever I’m ready to talk, she says something that reminds me why I never opened up in the first place.
I want a mom who’s excited to buy ingredients for Christmas and asks us to help her cook. Mine stopped celebrating because she changed religion and thinks that nobody in the house should celebrate just because she won’t be having it.
I have a mother, not a mom. And I wish she could’ve been more of a mom than a mother.
