Today at work a lovely woman I sometimes see was talking about her upcoming wedding plans. One of the guys remarked that when he was studying psychology in school he was advised, “before you marry, spend time with your fiance’s parents. The way you react to her mom, take note of that.”
“Oh, no!” my engaged friend remarked. “That can’t be. He’s nothing like his dad. His dad makes me nuts. And I’m nothing like my mom.”
People my age brag about this all the time. I’m nothing like my mother. Meanwhile I’m hearing my mothers voice flying out of my mouth every minute of every day. I look down at my hand grabbing something and see hers at the end of my arm.
A few years ago I asked a friend
How many times a day do you think I’m becoming my mother to yourself?
About once a week.
ONLY ONCE A WEEK?!
I’m heartened by the fact that people tell me I sound more like my grandmother (who died before I could talk) than my mother. Which means that I’m the embodiment of best qualities of the two.
It doesn’t scare me, turning into my mother.
Or shall I say, the new and improved version of my maternal lineage.
Now stop bragging mom. I know you’re reading this.