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Living With my Mom

One of the best moves I ever made after becoming a mom was moving in with my own mom. To all the single mom out there doing it alone, kudos to you. I don’t know how you do it. Do you wear a lot of perfume? I know if it weren’t for my mom, I’d never shower. I only shower after Penelope goes to sleep becasue some nights I’m so tired, I just know I am going to fall asleep standing up and bang my head on the tiles. With my mom here, I know Penelope will get her breakfast.

Sure living with mom can be hard. But, then, living with anyone can be hard. At least with your mom, you’ve already gotten all the buttons pushed down so hard, they’re kind of worn like a cherished teddy bear.

MOM: “Did you put that bowl there to bother me?”

ME: “Why yes I did. Did I succeed?”

I don’t even mind the nagging because, if she weren’t doing it, the clothes would still be on the chair. The plates would still be in the sink. The table would be covered in random paper and bills. Ten, twenty years from now.

Indian, Asian and Latin American families have it right when they believe in staying in close proximity. Living here in Miami, I’m now close to my whole family and not just my mom. They drive me crazy. But my daughter has never felt more loved. She knows her uncles, aunts and cousins. She has two older “sisters” and one younger “brother” and I don’t have to birth her a “playmate”.

Do I consider my situation an epic failure? Judging by my daughter’s happiness, the only barometer I use anymore, it’s an epic success.