My Mom Called Me Out On My BS Today. I’m Grateful She Did That. Here’s Why.
When I woke up today, Ami asked me, “what do you want for breakfast”? To which I replied reflexively, “don’t worry Ami. You worry too much”. I say “don’t worry” to everybody about everything. Thanks, Prozac.
She replied instantly, “I’m your mother. I changed your diapers. Don’t tell me what to worry about”. I felt bad for a second, then smiled. I’m a lucky idiot. And if you’re an idiot, I hope you’re as lucky as me.
Forget that my grown ass should be making her breakfast (she hates the way I make eggs) or that she shouldn’t spend another second stressing over me, but I’m so blessed I’m blind to those blessings.
Oh and she also added, “Your face looks like a triangle”.
CALLS TO ACTION
1. Recommend this story. It helps others see the story, lets me know my work is worth writing, reading and recommending and makes me feel validated and fuzzy, because honestly, whose cold, dead heart isn’t instantly thawed and revived by the dizzying dopamine of notifications? Like, share, retweet, lather, rinse, repeat. Also, the doctors say if I don’t feel fuzzy, I’ll die, due to a rare deficiency in social currency triggered whenever my Klout score drops below 70. It’s 67 right now. Not a good look. Do you want me to die?! Didn’t think so.
2. Share this story: Facebook, Twitter, LinkedIn, email, etc.
3. Connect with me: Medium, Facebook, Twitter, LinkedIn, Instagram, Snapchat, Product Hunt, AngelList, Quora and Quibb. (I think that’s all of them!) Write me via email too! Call or text if you want. (917) 982–3849. I’m always happy to make new friends, listen, support, and be helpful in any way I can. That’s why I’m Medium’s resident cheerleader, duh! :)