Some people say that all women end up turning into their mother at some stage. I’ve never believed that’s true. Until I found myself one day last week kneeling down in the middle of Dunnes and insisting that the small boy whip off his t-shirt so I could try a few tops on him.
“Mam! What if someone sees me naked?!” he says.
“Sure no one is paying any attention to you at all” says I (and I’m not even a bogger).
BOOM, there it is. Flashback to the mid-1980s and being stripped to my cotton vest in the aisles of the same shop (when it had less notions), having various items pulled over my head, thinking I was going to die of embarrassment. Ah how things come full circle.
Other mammy gems I’ve come out with recently include:
“I’ll give you something to moan about”
“It’s just a bit of rain. You’re not sugar, you won’t melt”
“Stop acting the maggot”
There was a time I thought my beautiful baby blues would disappear into the back of my head there would be so much eye rolling when I heard those phrases. And now, here I am parroting them back at my own child without a hint of irony. The Dunnes incident opened my eyes to it though.
But then I reminded myself of all the things I do as a mam that my mother wouldn’t have done in a fit. The following list is not exhaustive, obviously, but definitely worth highlighting are:
- burping words in response to questions
- having farting competitions
- singing “oh my gosh, look at her butt” over and over again and falling around the place laughing
- practicing my ninja turtle moves
- walking 5km to three different pokegyms and sitting on a wall battling nine levels of Team Mystic in the rain
- having a rubber arm when it comes to “treats”
So yeah, turns out my inner semi-naked mortified 80s child is still alive and well, and essentially enabling. Don’t tell my mam though.
Clarification: obviously that’s not my mother in the picture. Just in case she stumbles across this like.