(violin music)
- [Voiceover] Every age I turn I think about
how old of a child my mom had when she was my age.
At 21 she had a one year old,
at 25, a five year old.
I try to imagine what my life would be like
now with a child.
I got glimpses of it carting around children in the snow
through Brooklyn when I was a nanny.
The brand of mom I nannied for
differed greatly from my own mother.
These moms were all over 40.
In fact most were over 50,
and they had houses and plans and firm goals.
These ladies bought organic produce.
They were nice, don't get me wrong,
but my mom and I had more fun.
When I was little I would sit in the front seat of the car
and we would belt Alanis Morisette.
Caps for Sale was Craps for Sale
every time I convinced her to read
it that way to me at bedtime.
And I wouldn't be able to stop laughing.
When other twenty-somethings
were bumbling at bars until closing time,
and washing hookups down with cold pizza,
my mom was busy being a mom.
In time though, I did turn into a teenager
who could wipe their own snot and make their own meals.
Moms and teenage daughters notoriously spark
misunderstandings and melodrama,
and we weren't any different.
In arguments I would glare at her
and hatefully spit the words,
you're suppose to be a mom.
I was adamant that moms
didn't litter the kitchen table with bottles and mixers.
They didn't date 21 year olds,
and that they didn't attempt Sylvia Plath antics
involving ovens.
I've always hated Sylvia Plath since
and have refused to read any word she wrote.
I forgot that before being a mom she was a person.
A person on their own journey.
A person who experiences sadness,
and needs help too.
A person whose identity is not just mom,
but also woman and artist and lover.
Sometimes I think about my mother
like she's a person who isn't related to me.
I marvel at how brave and strong this woman is,
to have raised me without the support of her family.
This woman who put herself through college
by working at minimum wage jobs
while still taking care of me.
And I can only feel grateful,
grateful that I have a mom whose not just a mom,
but is also a friend.
(violin music)