Real talk: every teenage girl resents her mother. And I was certainly no different, from the approximate age of 12 through 26-ish.
(If you’re one of those sick mother/daughter Lorelai and Rory best friend combos, excuse me for a moment while I go upchuck. But congrats. You do you. Just stick with me for a minute for the sake of the analogy.)
It’s only by the grace of God that the divine saw fit to give me only boys. Because I could just imagine the karma of having my own daughter. And it would not be pretty.
There are certainly times throughout one’s life, though, when one really really needs their mom (those years full of resentment included, if not the most important)….