My inspiration to write this came from my decision to jump out of an airplane about two weeks ago. It was a slightly psychotic move when I really think about it, but my urge to just do it overcame the logical part of my brain suggesting I not. Anyway, I knew my mom would think skydiving was a beyond horrendous idea and so I didn’t tell her until after the fact.

Even after I was safe and sound on the ground, I was still met with a flood of worried words and chastisement from her. But while it was slightly bothersome and I wondered why she didn’t just care that I was alive, I also became aware of something I’m grateful for. Although I hope this counts as an apology for nearly causing her to have a heart attack, it is mostly for her to read the words I don’t say often enough.

People sometimes have a difficult time acknowledging that I am my mother’s daughter. It is true that some say we are twins, but there are also some major differences. She steps outside in the summer (actually, also the spring and fall and probably the winter) and turns five shades darker; I bake in the sun for five minutes and get a sunburn that probably warrants a trip to the hospital for third-degree burns. She takes three days of mental preparation and three more days of actual packing before going on a trip; I throw my items in my suitcase the day before and hope for the best.

But, aside from our blatant differences, I’m glad that I am my mother’s daughter. I’m glad that when I make a decision, she challenges most of them and reminds me of all the things that could go wrong, no matter how ridiculously unlikely her worries are. I’m glad that every time I drive anywhere, I am required to text her the moment I get there. I’m glad that she is a little too technologically impaired (no offense) to fix my contact that I put in her phone as “my most beautiful daughter.” Or maybe that’s just because she thinks it’s true.

I’m glad that she sends me care packages at school that are so large one might understandably think a live animal was in there before opening it. My friends and I enjoy the items she fits in there for weeks on end- especially the food- and, though somewhat embarrassing, I thoroughly enjoyed parading across campus last year with a massive bundle of balloons in tow for my 19th birthday.

I’m glad that she often confuses her role as a mother with a doctor, and not only becomes my own personal nurse when I am sick but sends me with my own personal drugstore wherever I go. But seriously, if I find another giant bottle of Advil or package of Sudafed in random bags, people are going to start thinking I have more of a problem than just a headache. I’m also still wondering how she thought it necessary to send me abroad with three bottles of nose drops, although the nausea pills have helped tremendously with hangovers (I’m legal here)!

She won’t believe me, but people often tell me I have a hot mom and I know it’s true. I can’t think of anyone else who can pull off a pantsuit or that long, lavender t-shirt/dress thing and look that good. Though I will never understand her need to wear those weird matching pajama sets (FYI the tops have collars), it has recently occurred to me my mom has the best sense of style out of anyone I know and I am lucky to get to raid her closet on occasion.

No matter how much I complain and put up a fight, there are some things I could never change and would never want to change about her. When I am in pain, my mom feels that pain for me. She takes it on and consumes herself with helping me alleviate it in any way she can. I know it a measure of her unconditional love and her can’t-help-it ability to want to be an intricate part of my life.

Being away has made me see how absolutely and definitely lost I would be without her. This was evident way before I actually left, as evidenced by the way my family tends to wander around not knowing what to do with ourselves when she is gone. I can’t really give myself full credit for the things I’ve done in my life because I know it is her that taught me so many significant things- that working hard is what matters in the end, to rid my life of toxic people and things, and to not take myself too seriously.

I’m grateful that after college, though I am expected by most to have found a job and living arrangement elsewhere, my mom would be delighted if I lived at home. I’m grateful that her love is irrevocable no matter how stubborn or sassy I am, and I’m grateful for her constant reminders about miscellaneous things where she is always annoyingly right. Exhibit A: I’ll always listen when she tells me to “bring a sweater,” because honestly (and I will never admit this to her face), I always end up freezing.

Why does she do everything that she does? It must only be to make me happy because I know no normal person asks if I’m okay 750 times a day for their own sake. And I’m not sure what else I could possibly think to ask for.