MUM STORIES: I'm destined to become my mother

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In my inflated opinion of my own importance as a teenager, I thought I deserved much more attention from my parents than my siblings.

Being diagnosed with asthma and bronchitis, among other ailments, as a child made me feel as special as a five-legged calf.

I thought I should have been the one upon whom any and all attention was lavished yet my healthier siblings were receiving “too much” attention from my parents.

Never mind that I was the fourth-born. At that stage in their lives, my parents had been there, done that.

Their parenting muscles had been exercised to their full capacity so my insecurities were just a little blip in their generally successful parenting experience.

Becoming a parent has given me more clarity and appreciation of the role my parents played.

OUR CHILDREN THINK WE ARE ODD

Mothers the world over will attest to our children thinking that we are kind of odd. I am not going to allow my children to eat junk food four times a day.

‘Insipid green vegetation’ and a fruit or two are a non-negotiable and irreplaceable part of their diet. They must have good manners. "Please", "Excuse Me" and "Thank You" are a necessary condiment in everyday conversation.

A basilisk glare - no doubt inherited from my mother - is highly effective in communicating my displeasure when my kids are out of line. I am not going to stop wanting to know where they are and who they are with. As my mother used to say, “Introduce your friends to me. I do not eat people.”

The overprotective-mother Spanish Inquisition routine that inevitably followed was blamed on a malfunctioning common sense gland. I will continue to insist that reading books trumps spending hours on these technological gizmos any day.

If any of these make me odd, I take comfort because it is my default state of being and will not steer my kids wrong.

A friend who lives on the Coast once confessed to searching her son’s book bag when his behaviour changed in a way that made her check for metaphorical pressed red buttons.

Based on her intuition and breadcrumb clues, she discovered hard drugs in his possession and staged a harrowing intervention, which likely saved his life.

It is an ill-kept secret that for many mothers, our moral compass for our children points unwaveringly to the permanent north of our own interests; namely, our children’s safety and well-being.

Sometimes, we risk incurring the wrath of our children – like my friend who ‘infringed on’ her child’s privacy – because we are only too aware of the dangers that await unprepared youths trying to stay afloat in the muddy waters that are life.

As a mother to "tweenagers" (children older than eight but younger than thirteen) I get such a startling sense of déjà vu when my daughter expresses an opinion so similar to the ones I used to have that it feels like I am in a time warp.

In keeping with today’s child-rights conscious children, my children do not hesitate to speak their minds, the result of which makes me a frequent flier to my patience bank, as my mother before me must have been.

Being at sixes and sevens with my children is all in a day’s work. Sometimes I feel like a hybrid of a lion tamer and a wizard because of my nature-nurture role.

Many are the times when my kids accidentally-on-purpose slam doors because they are miffed that my particular brand of just desserts was unwarranted.

Even when I set rules and try to make sure that they are adhered to, I find myself stating the same rules and threatening the same unpleasant consequences. Then I rinse and repeat. The politically incorrect call it nagging.

I call it being a mother. It's in our DNA and forms the most important part of our job description.

Do you have a mum story to share with us? Please e-mail: [email protected]

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