I don’t know why I get embarrassed when she sings my praises to strangers. Lord knows I don’t mind announcing my book’s upcoming release–I’m excited about it! But when Mom starts bragging, I feel like a six-year-old who just won the spelling bee.
But she’s so cute! At the doctors’ offices (yes, that’s plural–she has several doctors), every nurse and white-coated physician knows I wrote a book. And if we’re in a full waiting room, the patients know too.
“This is my daughter, the author. She wrote a novel. I’m so proud!” Then she flashes a cheeky smile. “Tell them about it, honey.” Or at a restaurant, in between our waiter’s introduction and the request for our drink order, she’s at it again. “This is my daughter. She wrote a book!”
But I’m blessed. Don’t think I don’t know it.
I’m at the age when many women are losing their moms, or have already lost them. That’s sad. Once a woman has a family of her own and becomes the mother, the wife, the one-responsible-for-all-things-from-meals-to-lost-teddy-bears, our days of being pampered are pretty much over. The only place to go where someone fixes our favorite dish, is interested in us and our comfort, worries that we’re not getting enough rest, is . . . Mom’s house. The love we receive from our hubbies and kids is wonderful, treasured, and different. But only a mom can love like a mom.
So, yeah, she’s proud of me, she brags on me. She’s supposed to–she’s a mom. Once Give the Lady a Ride comes out, I’ll have to carry a supply to all her appointments and be prepared with a functioning pen to sign each copy. Not that I’m complaining, but maybe next time I should write a book with a medical professional as the main character.