UPDATED August 1st, 2016
I like to joke that my mother had children so we could worship the ground she walked on. How she plotted the three kids she’d push out with my father so they would adore her unconditionally. As she went into labor, her brow sweating, she must have hollered, “Another minion to call my own!” As she cursed at the doctors when I refused to leave her womb, she must have wondered if I would disobey her need to be loved and admired. Would her youngest daughter ever rebel? Yes.
