May 8, 2010

My Mother, Myself

Yesterday I scrubbed the bathroom tiles. I never thought I’d grow up to be the Queen of Chlorox. Or that I’d insist on manually drying the dinner plates. But I am. And I do. Forty plus years later, I can categorically say that I have morphed into my mother.

The physical signs are secondary. The hips, knees that tend to knock against each other, forever size 32B cups—I knew I was destined to have these in my early teens, when I realized I was no Regal Baby material. And now, when my elder cousins point out that I look like Ma when she was younger, I take it as the compliment that they intend it to be. I am my mother’s daughter, after all.

I knew for sure that I had a bit of my mother in me when I had what my mom probably considers her sweet revenge: my daughter. The obsession with super sanitized tiles began, as did the compulsion to keep files of almost anything. I have even taken to using that tone when the daughter becomes too much of a handful.

Of course, I have yet to settle into Ma’s choice of wardrobe, or obsess over my handwriting. I have yet to volunteer for church duty, or to volunteer for anything, for that matter. But then again, I have all the time in the world to be completely “mommy-fied.”

A happy day to all mothers of whatever shapes and forms.

2 comments:

Kayni said...

a wonderful entry :) and i've been hearing the same thing - that i look and sound like my mom.

belated happy mother's day to you and your mom.

Rudy said...

Uy, Happy Mom's day pala to you...

So how was the election in your neck of the woods? Do write!