The older I get, the more I am turning into my mother. This is a worry to me.
At twenty, I point blank refused to exercise, went to bed late and got up later, and was allergic to cleaning. I lived with boys, so they didn’t mind how untidy the house was or how dishevelled I looked when watching the television, and we cohabited seamlessly. I didn’t worry about the cost of petrol or use coupons (they just cluttered up my purse) and the garden was specifically there to lay in, or to burn food and dice with food poisoning when BBQ season was upon us.
Five years on, I am realising that we are a product of our own destiny. I came to this harsh realisation a year ago when I lived with ex boyfriend in the cottage, and was horrified at the state of the garden. Once the snow subsided and the days got warmer, you would find me at the weekends turning over the soil, spraying the cats as they tried to eat the plants and putting in gorgeous colourful flowers. It made me happy to come home to gorgeous colours surrounding a pretty little chocolate box cottage in the countryside, and this continued until the day that my kittens, determined to have the old me return, figured that if they buried mice in various stages of decay in my beds id probably give up and go back to the TV. I did.
But other aspects of my life have made me realise that the metamorphosis is beginning. I take reusable bags to the supermarket, forever worried that there is a landfill somewhere that is full of bright orange Sainsbury’s bags and that my children will have to eat each other to survive due to the horrible effects our generation had on Mother Earth. I fill my car up in the same place, preferring to save 1p on each litre of fuel, and I now drive safely from a to b, watching the speed limit and tutting at people who pull out in front of me.
I go to the gym (sporadically at the moment) because ‘you get out what you put in’ and I worry about my joints in old age, and I actually take a calcium supplement (something that my mother has been trying to force me to do for years, sneaking it into my orange juice, breakfast and any other foodstuffs she can get her spritely little hands on) to protect my bones. My intolerance to dairy worries me, and so I do this to avoid being totally brittle. Although I think my cheese consumption has this covered!
Do not regret growing older. It is a privilege denied to many. ~Author Unknown
Do you see your parents traits in you?