Becoming Our Parents

It’s inevitable.  Oh sure, we all say, “It won’t happen to ME!”  But slowly, surely, we devolve into our parents.  I can hear it in my voice when my 22-pound Himalayan trips me in the kitchen for the gazillionth time and I growl, “Dammit, cat!”

Then I gulp.  Loudly.  When did my mother possess my body?  And just how quickly can we perform an exorcism?

When I mention this horrifying realization to my mom, she simply cackles:  “Just wait till you have kids.  Heck, you’ll find yourself sounding like me all the time!  BWA-HA-HAAAAAA!”

As I continue to listen to her ramble on, I wonder:  When did Grandma possess Mom’s body?

I know I can’t stop this inevitability.  Really.  I do.  But, despite the wonderful job my parents did in raising me (no comments from the peanut gallery, please), I still harbor the hope that I can avoid using a select few of their parenting techniques.  Which is why I would like to publicly and officially document these more questionable techniques in advance of my baby’s arrival, with the sincere promise of NEVER USING THEM.

I, Candy Kirby, promise Candy Junior that I will never, ever:

1. Utter my father’s favorite threat, “Your ass is grass, and I’m the lawnmower!”
2. Cut her bangs using the “freestyle” method.
3. Say, “Oh look!  You’re getting little boobies.”
4. Break Mommy and Daddy’s bed during sex and wake her up with my smothered laughter, thereby traumatizing her FOREVER.
   
5. Allow her to use ten cans of Aqua Net Extra Super Hold on her hair before getting her state orchestra portrait taken — an unfortunate portrait that still hangs on the wall of Mechanicsburg High School’s orchestra room and undoubtedly remains the subject of much mocking.

With love and good intentions,

Mama Candy

p.s. — Also, I will never, ever show you that state orchestra portrait.  And don’t you dare ask your grandma to dig it out.