It’s official. I have turned into my mother.
I say things like, “Because I said so”, “For Pete’s sake”, and “If I have to ask you one more time!?”
I cook dinners in Crock-Pots while yelling “Don’t make me come up there!” Usually followed by the motherly counting, “1-2- don’t you dare make me say 3!”
I’m constantly asking my children to turn off their lights, put the toilet seat down, and clean up their mess.
I lay items on the stairs hopeful they will be carried to their proper place, though they never are, unless by me.
I purge my children’s toys when they aren’t looking. Sometimes my husband’s too.
I remind everyone to use the bathroom before leaving the house, no matter where we are going. Every. Single. Time.
I watch the news, various documentaries, and all the shows I once deemed “boring”. No longer a fan of MTV and all of the shows I vowed to enjoy forever.
I hate wasting things. We will eat leftovers for a week if it means not throwing any food out, unused.
I cry at everything. Commercials. Television shows. Books. Church service. Random Wednesday’s.
I take daily vitamins, have a favorite comfy spot, and constantly ask people to “Text me when they get home.”
I hold books and papers extremely far from my face, which somehow helps me see better.
My hands are busy, my heart is full, and I’m gaining more of my mother’s mom-isms with each day.
There is beauty in turning into your mother, especially when your mother is no longer here.
If I could be anything, I’d be her, and apparently I am with each passing day.
Have you started becoming your mother? It’s a funny, yet beautiful transformation.
