No, I’m not talking about my biological mother. I’m talking to you, the mom of my friend group. I know you get a bad rap sometimes. You wouldn’t go shot-for-shot with me on my 21st, you gave me that slightly condescending “I know you can do better” look when I hooked up with my ex AGAIN, and you stayed in to study for finals instead of coming out with me to that party. I’ve rolled my eyes at you and called you a drag, but the truth is, I need you. We all need you. I realize I haven’t said thank you enough, so Mom, this one’s for you.
What would I have done all these years without you? You’ve dragged my ass home drunk more times than I can count. You stopped me from going home with that bartender…and that ex-boyfriend…and that guy in the flat-brimmed hat who suddenly looked absolutely amazing after a handful of vodka sodas. You swapped out my last shot for water and you always drove me home. Somehow I always ended up with my head in the toilet, but what would I have done without you to hold my hair back and force feed me French fries and Sprite? I may have fought you, and I’m always going to fight with you in the future, but isn’t that how it always is with moms? As they say, Mom knows best, and you are always, ALWAYS the one who knows best.
If anyone ever gave me hope that it was possible for me to get my shit together, it was you. You showed me that Easy Mac and vodka did not make a proper meal. You showed me that stable relationships actually can be more fun than always bringing home the nameless catch of the week from a party. You showed me that a drama-free life, although not cut out for me, can still be a hell of a time. I know I’m not there yet, but you’ve given me the best example to look up to for the day I finally get my act together.
What else can I say but thank you? Thanks for always being there for me when I need you. Thanks for nodding your head and going along when I say I’ll make it up next time, even though we both know that you wouldn’t trust me to be Mom for a minute. Most of all, thank you for loving me even though I mess up time after time. You’re the best, Mom. The next one’s on me–but the next four are on you. Deal with it. Love you, mean it.
The Baby Of The Friend Group