My Mother, Myself

It’s creeping up on me, little by little. Even my uncle pointed it out the other day. Resistance is futile: I am slowly turning into my mother.

Don’t get me wrong, there are fates far worse. In fact, I can think of few better. My tone here is not so much horror, as it is bemused realization. My mother is full of strength, wisdom and grace. She has all the charm and hospitality of her Southern heritage and little of the stuffy ignorance. Throughout unspeakably hard times she's been nothing but steadfast and dignified. I have never known anyone so true to her friends, so committed to her husband come what may, or so willing to bloom no matter where the seeds have fallen; there is nothing "fair weather" about her. More than one of my guy friends in high school dubbed her "hot"; I can only pray to age so beautifully.

But still, its my mom. And I’m only 23 year old. I’m too young to catch myself doing the Mommy Boogaloo shuffle dance around the house. Or singing operatic harmonies to pop songs on the radio. Or neurotically mitering the corners of my bed sheets. You know- all those little idiosyncratic, purely "mom" things. I blame my early career as a nanny for prematurely thrusting this probably inevitable process on me. Waking up the kids for school, doing their hair, packing their lunches, calling time-outs, breaking up fights - it was like an out of body experience to actually hear myself echo my mother's immortal words "Just ignore your brother and he’ll leave you alone", reading bedtime stories, calling after them "Do your best work!" as they toddled into class … it was all executed with an eerie familiarity. Even my tone mirrored hers almost exactly, which isn’t really news since people haven’t been able to tell us apart on the phone for years.

It’s definitely in my speech patterns that I notice it the most, in tiny voice inflections or exclamations. Maybe none of this is new and I’m only noticing it as I become more adult-like. I’ve definitely put my own spin on the gene pool, and it’s still uncertain how close that can come the quality of the original. Get back to me in about 30 years. The pressure of living up to the greatness of those who came before is a miniscule burden, however, compared to the immeasurable blessing of being led by a stellar example in the first place. Even if it also yields some really bad dancing and a predisposed Diet Coke addiction.