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November 18, 2012 / Mettā Reiki Center

I am becoming my Mother.

 

I’ve noticed this in the past couple of months. I’ve tried not to
think about it…I swore it would never happen. But it’s happening. It
is as unavoidable as the Mother’s Curse (“When you grow up, I hope you
have a child that is JUST LIKE YOU”).

***As an aside, I would strongly advise any readers that are still
living with their mothers (meaning that there is a possibility that
this curse may be thrown in their direction) to take any and all means
necessary to avoid it. Clean your room, cook dinner, wash the dishes,
bring her chocolates, WHATEVER it takes. Trust me on this one.

A few examples of how I have evolved into my Mother, slowly but surely:

One night last week, I made turkey meatloaf for dinner. There were
ample amounts of other things in the house that were less Mother-ly –
frozen pizza, macaroni and cheese, smoked sausage – hell, we even had
chocolate Cheerios. But for some whacked-out reason, I was determined
to make turkey meatloaf. And when my husband gave the meatloaf a
quizzical look (I think the swirly things in the quinoa threw him for
a loop), I advised him that he should plan to eat this interesting
fare – AND like it – since the only alternative was to wear this
interesting fare as a new accessory for his shirt…“Eat it or wear it.”

Exactly one year ago, I was making appointments for my hair pretty
much every 6 to 8 weeks like clockwork. My wonderful colorist had my
special recipe in her file box, knew exactly where I liked a highlight
here, a highlight there. Ahh, yes, my long auburn locks were a great
source of pride for me. But recently, free time has migrated to the
“endangered” list in my life, and with a baby that is fascinated with
hair (and the act of pulling it), having hair that is not pinned up
leads to acute pain. The good news: I’ve embraced it the new
highlights God has given me, and have decided (just as Mother did)
that I’m giving up the fight. I plan to let my whole head turn
silver, so I can “get some damn respect”.

One of my favorite memories of Mother: when she first noticed gray
hair, she decided to grab a frost kit and dye her entire head
silver…so she could “get some damn respect”.

Here’s where it starts to get scary.

I’ve still the hovering, bat-poo crazy nerved-out mommy, but I don’t
panic at every wet burp…just the really juicy ones. But there is
now emerging a tough-love mother who picks Baby up by her scruff after
yet another tumble, checks for bleeding or other obvious injury, and
then promptly reassures Baby that she’s “not broken”. (This prevents a
120-decibel wailing fit that rivals the vuvuzela of a Germany soccer
fan).

I’ve stopped sterilizing pacifiers. A quick rinse or baby wipe works
JUST FINE if Baby is screaming at the top of her lungs and needs that
mute button back post-haste.

I’ve learned how to make strange and disturbing facial expressions –
because I have become addicted to the precious baby giggles that are a
direct result of my facial contortions.

I’ve made science experiments out of mashed-up foods mixed with rice
cereal that the cats won’t even touch – because it’s the only thing
Baby will eat with any enthusiasm.

I’ve traded in my wedge heels for running shoes. Moreover, I now have
absolutely no problem with wearing these running shoes with anything,
including dress slacks and skirts.

I’ve become quite talented at balancing a baby carrier and a weeks
worth of groceries between arms and hips while digging out keys,
pacifiers, and/or teething biscuits from my pockets.

I have developed a very interesting cat-like swatting reflex toward
any stranger that dares to try to touch Baby when we are out in
public. I don’t care if you used Purell. Touch my kid and you’ll be
drinking Purell.

I’ve noticed myself using tweezers on my chin instead of my eyebrows,
and using alternative measures (also known as “Mom-Spit”) to smooth
baby cowlicks when the fancy detangling spray is not within reach
(which is most of the time). FYI, “Mom-Spit” also works really well
when there is sticky stuff on Baby’s face – it gets that stuff off
before Gramma has a chance to call you on it.

I’ve cleaned glass table tops with grape scented Boogie Wipes, and
have also found they are a fabulous way to remove makeup when I’m too
tired to go through the whole exfoliating/moisturizing routine at
bedtime. (Which is most nights. Baby butt wipes work too, if you’re
out of grape scented Boogie Wipes.)

I’ve developed a strange insomnia. I must have my husband snoring on
my left side and one of our cats (specifically, Edward the Fabulous)
purring on my right side in order to sleep… but I can go from a dead
sleep to WIDE awake if Baby makes a sound during the night.

I haven’t developed eyes in the back of my head yet, but I guess there
are certain things that can only be earned in time.

There is no denying the metamorphosis. I am becoming my Mother…

…and if a new Mommy has any intention of surviving the adventures of
child-raising, morphing into their Mother is an absolute necessity.

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