I'm the mum I thought I didn't want to be

The older my children become, the more I find myself morphing into my own mother.

I obviously have no recollection of my mum when I was an infant so I couldn’t possibly comment on her parenting skills back then, but I do remember her clearly from the age of four onwards and I can safely say, the transition has occurred.

That four year old girl has now become the woman who used crouch in front of her and blow into her woolly hat on cold winter days for ‘good luck’.

When I found myself doing the same thing for Joshua a few months ago, I realised the change had officially taken place.

In addition to the same superstitions and mannerisms my mum has passed on to me, I also find myself telling my daughter the same tales and offering the same platitudes my mother offered me when I was Grace’s age.

When Grace recently wet herself on a day out at the playground, she approached me looking miserable and mortified.

Channelling my own mum, I told her I had packed ‘magic knickers’ that meant it wouldn’t happen again and she could play to her heart’s content, safe in the knowledge her new underwear was made of cotton and super powers.

It worked, just like it had done for me at her age.

When my children recently stayed with a relative while my husband and I enjoyed a rare weekend away, I had a feeling I would have to turn to my mum’s classic cure-all remedy when her brood were away from home and sure enough, I was right.

Hearing both my children were weeping at the foot of their auntie’s stairs looking for mummy and daddy, I told my sister-in-law to place both their shoes beside their pillow so they’d be ready to pop them on and run to me in the morning with no delays.

Buoyed by the plan and excited that they were now fully prepared, my children went asleep cradling their shoes, just like I had done when I experienced my first bout of homesickness.

When I find myself slowly withdrawing my feet from the bubble bath which I had prepared for myself and planned for most of the day in order to treat my kids to a ‘special tub’,  I know that’s my own mum coming out in me.

While I spent most of my teen years telling myself I would be nothing like my mum up when I grew up, I’m now thanking my lucky stars that that didn’t happen.

Without my mum’s influence, I’d be blundering even more blindly through this whole motherhood lark than I already am.

I probably wouldn’t even know where to find ‘magic knickers’ and then where would Grace be?