It’s Mother’s Day, and I’m feeling all the things—joyful, grateful, wistful, and slightly amused by the strange turns life takes. May is already my power month—birthday, blooming flowers, celebratory energy—and Mother’s Day ties it all together like the perfect bow on an already loud, glittery gift.

I love being a mom. Truly, madly, deeply. It’s the title that means the most to me, even when it comes with laundry, late-night worries, and teenage snack raids. I’m lucky. I’m really lucky to have a son who is full of empathy, curious questions, and random bursts of humor that catch me mid-sip of coffee. We have real conversations now, the kind that make you pause and realize: this little person you raised is becoming a full-blown, amazing human.

The other day, he told me people say “thank you” to ChatGPT out of courtesy… and some, out of fear of the robot uprising. I mean—come on. That’s comedy gold. And insight. And exactly the kind of modern motherhood moment I didn’t see coming when I first held that baby in my arms. Now I’ve got a son who makes me laugh, who makes me proud, and who’s already more emotionally intelligent than most adults in a boardroom.

And yet… Mother’s Day is never just one note.

I miss my mom. Fiercely. There are so many milestones I wish she’d been here for—ones she missed, ones she’ll miss, and ones I wish she could have shared with her grandson. I wish he knew her laughter, her strength, her stories. I wish she could see the boy he’s become. So many wishes.

But I had her. For the time I did, I had her. And that love runs deep—deep enough to ripple forward into how I mother now. I carry her in my heart, in my sass, in my insistence on celebrating everything from Sunday brunches to made-up holidays. She’s in the way I love fiercely and fight hard for joy.

So today, I celebrate it all—the messy, beautiful layers of motherhood. The then. The now. The hopeful future. I celebrate the kid who’s growing up too fast, who makes me think, makes me laugh, and makes me proud to be his mom.

And yes, I’ll probably say thank you to a robot again. Out of courtesy. And maybe, just maybe, because I’ve raised a kid who made me wonder if the AI revolution really is watching.