I am turning into my mother. Well, actually, I have come to realize that I have more in common with my mother than I previously thought. This is hard to admit in part because I’ve always had a romanticized notion of being a unique individual unlike anyone else on Earth. I imagined myself as a daisy in a field of tulips. Vain? Yes. Uncommon? No.
I do not know if it is a symptom or condition of growing up, but I have been spotting an increase in resemblances between us with age. Even at Baylor I seem to adhere to her nightly ritual back home–get off work, take a shower, put on face lotion, make myself a cup of coffee (with a high creamer-to- coffee ratio and a packet of Sweet ‘N Low, please), eat a pastry picked up earlier that week and watch T.V., in exactly that order.
Our shared behaviors have extended as far as to how we interact with others. I cannot help but offer anybody who swings by my dorm a drink or snack in very much the same way that my mother feels compelled to feed house visitors. When I leave a party I must say goodbye to not just one person, but everyone at the party, just like my mom does back home.
Personality-wise, we both talk too much– often at the expense of our own sleep. We cannot help but pass along advice to anyone willing to listen. Looking for an opinion? We have one for almost anything. You know we are annoyed by our silence and get progressively louder when we get angry. I now mutter complaints under my breath in Spanish whenever I get upset.
Even my look is evolving to mimic my mother’s. A cardigan with every tank top, no exceptions. Nail polish, a necessary accessory for any social outing. And heels that complement an outfit, not make a statement.
It is very likely that most of these things are the effects of living with each other for so long, but still, I wonder if I will ever stop being surprised whenever I sound or act “just like my mother.” This is not to say that there is anything wrong with my mother. On the contrary, I have a deep love and admiration for her. She is an outstanding woman. However, if I find myself trying to roll up my hair high up on a bun one more time, I might just have to start calling myself Ivette.
Didi Martinez is a sophomore journalism and political science major from Katy. She is news editor for the Lariat.
