Nine months – What did the title make you think of? 

I think most of us would have thought of pregnancy. Bring that thought closer to you.

Nine months – The time we spent (generally) living in our mother’s womb; the start of our lives. We don’t hold any memories of those nine months. But someone else does.

Of all the times we kicked her, or did a mini somersault, or when we caused the random middle-of-the-night crave for roti prata (side note: thanks Dad for the 24/7 food delivery service). As our foetal bodies slowly developed, our mothers bore the brunt of our growth. 

She put on weight, endured bouts of morning sickness, and bore the endless aches and pains. 

Even when those nine months were over, we never stopped causing trouble. We cried late into the wee hours of the night. When we discovered our motor skills, we used our newfound abilities to decorate (i.e. doodle) all over the walls and floors of the house, and drop food all over the kitchen floor, and to also faceplant ourselves on the cold hard earth as we thoughtlessly dashed across the playground, never stopping to think if we would miss a footing.

But she was always there.

She cleaned up after us; she soothed us; she wiped away our tears, cleaned and wrapped our wounds,and tenderly kissed away the pain. And we grew bigger, day by day.

After the initial excitement of hearing us speak our first word, I kind of suspect our mothers actually wished for a mute button when we began to talk back to them.  

My mum recounted one incident when I was 2 or 3 years old, as we were travelling in Shenzhen. She had brought bottles of baby food along for convenience sake, but it slipped her mind that being the a fussy eater I was, I wasn’t going to stand for being fed the same pumpkin potato purée for all my meals. 

On the second day of the trip, the moment I saw her opening the bottle of pumpkin potato purée, I looked her in the eye and said: “Mummy, I’m full.“

A laughable incident, but that was probably just the beginning of the many moments I would make snarky retorts to her. 

I believe our teenage years were probably the worst for our mothers. With the mutual feeling of “You just don’t understand!”, it was hard to have quality communication. Most of us likely fumbled during our teenage years – Our mothers not knowing how to reach out to us, and us not wanting to let her in. 

I remember those years. My mum and I would have moments where we sat in silence, as she struggled to make me open up and I pushed to keep my mouth shut.

On hindsight, I should have talked. I should have told her about that boy I had a crush on, or that I scored 0 on my math test because I couldn’t quite understand numbers (it’s the reason I’m writing and not doing accounting).

But for some reason, I never thought she would understand. I assumed I was going to get nagged at:

“You’re still young, don’t think of boys.”  

“If you stop using your phone, you could do better for your math tests!”  

So in the blink of an eye, those years passed.

Today at this very moment, perhaps you’re still in your teenage years, or perhaps those years are a distant hazy memory. But through it all, mum has always been there. A constant she may be, but as I recently celebrated yet another of her birthdays with her, it dawned upon me that she’s been aging as well, through all the different milestones in my life. But now even in my mid-twenties when I’m sad about something, I know I can run into her arms to be comforted.

And today, I hope she reads this because it’s my way of showing my admiration.

If for many years you never got to show gratitude to mum, now’s the most convenient opportunity to do so. No mother is perfect, but no child is either. Whenever you get annoyed with her and try to hide from her nagging, remember this:

In those nine months, she never once told you to leave her alone.

Happy Mothers’ Day to all the wonderful mothers out there 🙂