My mom was in town this weekend and we had a wonderful time. I have declared her ‘easiest house guest alive.” I mean, Violet and I prepared some: cleaned up the house, hid what needed to be hidden, dusted off and displayed certain things- but we would do that to some degree for anyone. My mom is so easy going and so fun to hang out with that it is totally effortless on my part to have her around. She has always been one of my favorite people, which is fortunate for me considering I am exponentially becoming nothing more than a younger, butch version of her. Every time I get an extended amount of time with her it becomes clearer and clearer that we are only a few reasons away from being the same person. I know I’m like my dad too, but it’s different. I am like my dad whereas I am my mother, you know?

For me, there was a very particular, exact moment when I realized that I was, in fact, my mother. Come November it was 8 years ago exactly.

I was lazily lying around on a quiet, pristine beach in Mexico when I had finally roasted myself enough to want a quick swim. I stood up and ran towards the water and as that first wave hit me I let out this higher than I would have expected “AAaaAaaagh!” sound and immediately froze. I stood there waist deep in the ocean, frantically looking all over the beach for my mom. This is a sound that only she makes and that she has made all of my life when anything takes her off guard. And it took me several seconds to realize that that sound, the one that only my mom makes, that I had just heard clear as the water I was in, had come out of me.

And just like that, still standing like a statue of myself in the ocean, my brain told me this: “There is no escape. you. are. your. mother.”

And so I swam around for a bit, trying to re-realize everything about me – like I was trying to reconfigure myself back into myself with this new information. Incorporate my individuality with all of the pieces that are only me because of her. And I know I know I know, I am damn lucky, because she is a fabulous woman. Remarkably kind. She has always reminded me of sunshine, which is why my place in the world at that exact moment made it that much easier to soak her in too.

Since then there have been a plethora of moments where the fact that I am my mom is totally undeniable and totally beyond my control. We have a very similar body shape in general, we both mindlessly bite our bottom lip, we both care too much about where we sit in restaurants, we both have an identical explosive ‘pah hah’ laugh when we are surprised by something funny, we both have and care too much about our fabulous hair, we are both described by others as a tad dramatic in nature, we have the same expressions, a lot of the same mannerisms, and by the end of a few days together we are saying the same things at the same time… and then we laugh, exactly the same way, about having just said the same thing at the exact same time.

So, is it like that for all daughters? Do we all have that defining moment where it becomes undeniable that parts of who we are are only because of our mother? (Do I sound like Carrie Brandshaw sans typing this at home in my underwear with a cigarette and a Tartini at my side?)

Speaking of sharing things, right before my mom got to our house my computer was open with jljj on the screen. Before Violet closed it down she asked, “Does your mom know about our blog?

Ours, huh? Good to know.

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