Are You My Mother?

Sometimes I look at my mother and wonder how much I really know her. 
What was she like when she was my age? What did she think about, worry about, dream of doing?
What was her favorite song?
What colors inspired her?
What was her favorite book?
I was six years old when my mother turned thirty.
It's a bizarre thought, really.
I remember looking at her and thinking how beautiful she was, how happy I was that she was my mother.
I remember hoping I would grow up to be just like her.
But what did she think of who she was?
Was she happy?
I'd like to think she was. I'd like to think she felt fulfilled and confident and loved.
I'd like to think that she knew how magical she was to me, how much she inspired me.
She did then, and she still does now.
Maybe it's time she knew.