Dear mother, it’s come that time of year again where I am socially obligated to express my love and thank you for all that you have done for me, because apparently, getting to call me your son isn’t payment enough. Well then, if you’re going to be all “Me, Me, Me” I suppose I will have to bow to the pressures of society. I bloody well hope you’re happy.

I often express my love and affection for you every time we meet. We don’t embrace each other like some mother and son relationships, with a hug or kiss on the cheek. Instead i greet you with a simple “Alright, Slag?” Which I believe fills you with more warmth than a hug ever could.

Having now flown the nest and settled down with a family of my own, I wouldn’t blame you for feeling a sense of emptiness. No longer are you my alarm clock, forcing me out of bed for work each morning. No longer are you responsible for making me a packed lunch for work and having a hot meal waiting for when i come home. No longer are you responsible for washing and ironing all of my dirty clothes that are dropped lazily onto my bedroom floor. No longer do you get to wait on me hand and foot. For all of this, I am truly sorry.

I don’t know why but I feel like I’ve known you my entire life. With you being involved in the majority of my fondest childhood memories, right up to this present day. If I’m to be honest, I miss many of the pleasures that came from living under your roof. I remember the fun we would have when you would venture to my upstairs domain. Completely unaware of my presence, I would casually wait for the opportune moment before positioning myself in a blind spot, giving you a mild heart attack the moment you turned a corner. They say doing one thing a day that scares you is good for the heart, if so, I believe you must have the heart of an Olympic athlete.

I will give credit where it’s due, you were always very active with us all. Whether we played a game of football in the park where you persisted to pick up more injuries than the professionals, or a friendly game of badminton, in which you didn’t quite understand that you have to let your children win once in a while. Slowing things down a little, a round of golf was always a joy during the summer months, with your unique swing being the butt of many fine jokes, along with your final scorecard.

We didn’t always have this much fun though. I remember we would go to the local swimming pool quite often, where I was personally content with bobbing up and down whilst pretending to be a Pokémon. The next thing I knew, you and father would come over all innocent, father rocking a pair of pornstar Speedos, suggesting that I learned how to swim. So there we were, you’d persuaded me to lay on the surface of the water whilst you held your arms underneath, keeping me afloat, promising me that you wouldn’t let go. The next thing I know I have a lung full of chlorine and I’m thrashing around like a claustrophobic under the bed sheets. To this day I can’t watch The Titanic without having a mild episode. “I won’t let go, Jack,” That bitch. For someone who has always been a worrier, it’s surprising that you would be so careless to let your favourite son drown. You can insist that it’s the way you learn how to swim all you like, I will not be swayed by such lies.

I often wonder why it is that you worry so much. Whenever I’m ill you are straight on the phone to ask how I am. When you pop by my place of work, you’re rummaging through your shopping bag and handing me all sorts of things to eat. Even after moving out of the house, you absolutely insisted on still doing my laundry. Okay, maybe it was I who was insisting, but it didn’t stop you from obliging. I wonder why you do all these things, because frankly, this may come as a surprise, but I’m not particularly loving. I call you names and make jokes at your expense, albeit, hilarious ones. I use my height advantage against you and guilt trip and nag you into seeing my point of view. I even fail to listen to you whenever you’re trying to tell me something that is for my own good.

Despite never truly showing how grateful I am for everything you have done, I couldn’t thank you enough for everything good that I’ve experienced in my life. Having a mother like you, I know that whatever happens to me, good or bad, you will always be there no matter what. I can always rely on you for anything I need and you always have my best interests at heart, asking for nothing in return. You work the hardest of any person I know and if for just one day, I hope you can finally put your feet up and have somebody wait on you for a change. Not me of course, but you know, someone. I love you slag mum.

Happy Mother’s Day… you weren’t expecting a gift were you?

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