Turning into a Mom.
So here is the thing, I am trying to figure out exactly what is happening to my brain that is causing me to morph into a mom. Granted, I don’t have the child to tend to quite yet, but something strange is going on with my behavior that has made me pause.
I will give you a few examples:
1. On Sunday, I was watching the Cooking Channel, which I think I prefer over the Food Network because it is more food-centric than personality-centric. Anyway, at 1pm I began to plan for dinner.
Did you hear me?
At 1 o’clock in the afternoon, I actually thought ahead to 6 o’clock in the evening and got off the couch to take the frozen mound of pizza dough out of the freezer, and let it thaw to make homemade pizza – just like my mom used to do on Friday’s during Lent. I put it on the counter to let it rise in a bowl covered by a mopine.
(This definition is according to my family and wikianswers…and I heard Rachael Ray use it once. Apparently it is regional Italian slang, so only some people use it.)
When I went to put the dough on the baking sheet, the sticky smell gave me flashbacks to being a little kid, standing on a chair helping mom or dad. I’d always insist on taking a taste of it, and would then have to pinch the hole closed with my little fingers.
Note: The nostalgia will not cause me to begin to observe Lent again.
2. I invited one of my friends over to share the pizza with me. When he arrived at my apartment, he was dripping wet from the pouring rain we received on Sunday. So instead of doing what I would normally do in this situation – laugh at his foolishness for leaving the house without an umbrella – I channeled my grandmother and sort of whined…
“Where. Is. Your. Umbrella????” As if rain-water can cause a man to melt.
(If only it were that easy.)
As I heard myself speak, I thought of all of the similar questions I been asked by parental units in my 30 years here on earth, and suddenly realized, I SOUND JUST LIKE THEM. Gasp.
The most common question to me always is:
“WHERE. IS. YOUR. HAT? You lose 80 percent of your body heat through your head”…something I am pretty sure has been disproven by Myth Busters with the help of modern science, although my father still insists there is some truth to this idea.
I will let him believe what he wants, but getting me to put a hat on my head is never going to happen. The shape of my head is not conducive to hat wearing.
Others questions include:
WHERE. IS. YOUR. SCARF?
WHERE. ARE. YOUR. GLOVES?
DID YOU REALLY GO OUT IN THIS WEATHER WITH WET HAAAAAAAAAIIIIIIRRRRR????
Despite the instant eye rolls triggered by these seemingly silly questions when directed at me, my maternal instinct drove me to behave the same way. Sad. I know.
3. I find this last example most embarrassing.
BEFORE my friend was done eating the pizza, I decided I was going to clean up the dirty dishes and the kitchen and put the leftovers in the fridge.
Let me just preface the rest of this story by saying I HATE WHEN MY PARENTS CLEAN UP BEFORE I AM DONE EATING OR DRINKING. HATE. I love my dad, but HE loooooooooooooooooooooves to clean up the kitchen and to put things I am still using in the dishwasher and it drives me nuts.
I am horrified to admit that apparently pending parenthood has caused me to act just like him.
So after I put the pizza in the fridge and the dishes in the dishwasher, I sat back down on the couch.
After about ten minutes or so later my friend decided he wanted some more pizza so I told him it was in the fridge and instantly felt bad for not offering him another serving before putting it away.
But that guilt didn’t stop what happened next.
When he sat back down to eat the pizza he was using a new plate. A clean plate. An additional plate that was now getting dirty that would have to be cleaned.
The following conversation took place.
“Um, are you using another plate?” I asked.
As the words came out of my mouth I knew I had changed forever.
“Yes. You don’t keep paper towels in your apartment or I would have used one of those,” he responded, slowly raising the pizza to his mouth, as if any sudden movements would cause me to become more irrational about the second dirty dish situation.
(BTW…I don’t purchase paper towels. I am Eco-friendly and use mopines. I know it is mind-boggling. Don’t worry, I DO purchase tissues and toilet paper.)
I had to laugh, realizing that only a few years ago, a sink full of dirty dishes would have been something I walked by for at least three days. Now, adding one dish to the dishwasher after I started running it causes a reaction equivalent to the discovery that someone drank all of my beer.
I don’t know how I can show my face after disclosing this to all of you.