A monumental day arrived recently. I knew it was coming, but not so soon. A day that confirmed my long-standing suspicions.
I am, indeed, turning into my mom.
Now, this is not a complete transformation. I look eerily similar to my dad and have some striking personality traits in common with him. However, I am most definitely taking on many things “Mom”.
Unbeknownst to me, this transformation has been underway for years. It wasn’t sudden or obvious, like when we brought our firstborn home. Nope. It snuck up on me gradually as the toddler years hit.
Perhaps it was the day I realized just how many times I had swept the kitchen floor and I heard her whispering from my teen years, “You think helping me clean on Saturday is rough? When you were young I had to vacuum every other day to keep up with the mess!” “Chin over your plate” took on a whole new meaning that day.
As we began toilet training our second born, I couldn’t really recall what we did with the firstborn and her words from two years earlier came rushing back, “Toilet training? I don’t know, you just learned.” Oh, so true.
I snap my fingers for the boys to be quiet when I’m on the phone. Mom
I tell them to make their beds because “we take pride in our home”. Mom
I threaten to keep all the unclaimed stuff lying around the house. Mom
Several months ago, one of the boys was complaining about some injustice or injury and felt he was quite hard done by. Without missing a beat, I ushered in my most Mom-inspired moment to date when I uttered these two words: