Bromance is apparently a thing, but what about momance?
Even if you had a so-so relationship with your mother, chances are that once there was a new baby in town, you became history. It's not that you're forgotten per se, but with someone unspeakably precious and cuddly on the scene, the competition probably became so fierce that you found yourself elbowed out of the limelight. After my son was born, he became the shining star and I became, well, a stand-in at best. And to some extent that was cool with me, expected.
Once the apple of my mom's eye, I was pushed to the periphery. The love was still there, yes, but I admit that watching the main attraction from the wings stung just a little. Every now and then I missed the spotlight and pined to feel its warmth.
My mom and I have always been close. I was an only child, and for many years my mother was single, so it was just the two of us. I wouldn't say we were like sisters; she didn't pretend to be my BFF, yet she pretty much was.
In my student days we went to hockey games and heckled together. We listened to opera at quaint Italian restaurants while twirling fettuccine on our forks. When I lived abroad she would visit at least once a year and we would do fun things together. We had high tea in true Tudor style. We walked under the Eiffel Tower in the pissing rain. We toured around Scotland and Ireland (also in the pissing rain).
In recent times, though, we've been lucky to steal 15 minutes for a drive-through coffee. But this week the balance shifted for the first time in years. For her birthday I bought two tickets to see P!nk, one of the few singers we both enjoy. There was only one hitch: she had to take me along as her guest.
Because the gig was out of town, we were 'forced' to make a real date of it. A hotel and a train. Pure coercion on my part, but for a good cause. We needed some quality girl time, and I was going to get it by any means.
The concert was a lively, acrobatic-laden blast. But P!nk was just the icing on a cake that saw us bonding over fettuccine all over again, sharing a jacuzzi in the hotel, and doing more shopping than our respective husbands would care to know!
Giggles were had—when she stepped out of the elevator to allow someone off, and the doors closed before she could re-enter—and chat galore. Twenty-four hours later, memories were made, and our momance rekindled. The best part? We plan to make an (at least) annual tradition of it.
Do you schedule regular 'dates' with your mother? Any special traditions?
Photo by PR Photos
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