“Oh my goodness, you are just like your mother.”

 

That comment used to have me bristling. Just like my mother? Seriously? But I was young, and cool, and totally wearing the latest fashion – how could they think I was just like my mom?

My mom was serious and tired and she rarely had the latest trends in clothing. She was too strict, too demanding of us, and they thought I was just like her? Aak!

Yes, my mom was serious and tired – she worked third-shift as a nurse, so either she or my dad would usually be home with us kids. And times weren’t easy, so she worked long hours and got very little sleep during the day.

Money was spent on the necessities for her three daughters, so yes, she stuck with clothing that was plain and would wear it until it wore out, with the occasional splurge on a nice jacket or dress outfit for a special occasion.

Her strictness was legendary with my friends, yet I’m grateful for some of it now. All three of us made it to adulthood without any major complications, becoming happy, successful and productive members of society.

Yes, I’m told I’m a lot like her, and nowadays, I take that as a compliment.

She’s fiercly loyal and protective of her family, and quick to help out anyone in need. She’s determined, intelligent and has great sarcasm in her humor. She’s strong, yet admits to her weaknesses, however few they may be. She is spiritual in a quiet and humble manner.

If I can even be half the mom she was to me, to Little Dude, I’ll be doing the job right.

It wasn’t always this way, as like many mother/daughter relationships, we had our share of ups and downs. More downs than I care to remember during my teen years, truthfully, as I was positive she could never understand me, and certain she lived to see how miserable she could make my life.

Yet somehow, she overcame the horrible words I would yell, as I stomped through the house - ”I HATE YOU!” And I recall her responding to me at one time, “Well, I love you, so that is too bad.”

It didn’t sink in at the time, but when I think about it now, I realize she was just showing me how strongly she loved me. She wouldn’t let me push her away from me.

Some of our differences were caused by our similarities, I’m sure. I sometimes wonder if maybe I’m part of some cloning experiment, but then I crack some horrible potty-type joke and realize, yes, I’ve definitely got my father’s genetic material, too.

When I gave birth to Little Dude, I remember kicking my mom out of my room. The Hubby and I agreed ahead of time, that only he and I would be present for the birth, but my mom, who was so worried about me, managed to keep coming back to check on me. (She is a nurse in that hospital, so it was easy for her to pop into my room.)

Even though I ordered her out of my room, in rather short terms (I was in labor, so please cut me a little slack), she stuck around outside, just waiting to hear how I was doing. Yes, she was excited about seeing her grandchild, too, but I will always remember that when Little Dude was taken to the nursery, due to oxygen-level issues, she didn’t stay by the nursery windows watching like the rest of the family. She headed back to see me, because, as she told me, “You are my baby. Your baby will be fine, but I had to know how you were doing.”

That is my mom. And actually, she still kind-of prefers the term “mommy.” She has three very strong-willed and independent daughters, who have pushed away from her time and again, yet if we need her, she is right there. She wants us to fly, but she is there to catch us or help us back up, as needed.

So thank you to everyone who thinks I’m just like my mom. I can only hope that is true.

(I love you, Mommy! Just remember I’m your favorite middle daughter.)

• Share this:
• StumbleUpon
• Digg
• Reddit