1 You say, “Because I said so . . .” in response to any challenge from your children. That expression first marched proudly out of my mouth about a month ago, and by now it has become my response of choice to virtually any question. It also tends to precede a good old-fashioned threat of their being “in big trouble”, whatever that means. Generally, it’s after they’ve “made a holy show of me”. Occasionally, it concludes with the most melodramatic of all motherly moans: that they’ll be “the death of me”. You also avoid any potentially controversial answer with a non-committal: “We’ll see . . .”
2 You develop a matriarchal sense of the high moral ground and suddenly find yourself an inadvertent recruit to the holier-than-thou behavioural police.
The other day, I took it upon myself to challenge some poor random woman who happened to park in a parent-and-child space without any sign of a child in tow. As she walked past, I found myself chastising her lack of consideration for other “mothers” like myself. I gave this absolutely no thought whatsoever before I opened my big mouth. I found myself a “mother”, in a car park, with two small kids, and somehow it felt like my duty to become a judgmental, interfering old whinge.
It was only hours later that I remembered the singular mortification my own mother used to put me through when she simply refused to let something go. In the supermarket. Or with the traffic warden. Or, worst of all, with my school principal. Now I am that mother.
3 You are inevitably drawn in by the mere whiff of a bargain. You love nothing more than the feeling that you’re somehow getting something for nothing; making your euro stretch that little bit farther. “Coupon me up”, oh non-German retailer, and I’ll be all yours. It doesn’t matter that your nappies cost twice that of your non-native counterparts. So long as you’ve provided me with a few square inches of money-off vouchers, I’m in.
4 You recycle wrapping paper. And kill all sense of excitement and occasion in the process by standing over your kids imploring them to “be careful” while opening their presents on Christmas morning. Because, obviously, that’s really fun: opening Santa presents with the measured precision of a brain surgeon.
5 You grow emotionally attached to radio presenters, so much so that you feel abandoned when they dare to go on holidays. You miss the familiar lilt of their voices in the mornings and can’t quite get comfortable with their stand-ins. You feel as if they’ve let you down by daring to ride off into the sunset with their own families, leaving you in the lurch between 9 and 10am on weekdays.
6When you’re in a snot with your partner, you refer to him as “your father”. As in: “Your father’s still in bed, because he didn’t see fit to make it home until 1am last night.” Translates as: “Nothing to do with me, that particular individual. He just happens to be your dad.”
7Any goodies that appear in the house are immediately “disappeared”. Squirrelled away to some high-up shelf that little hands and legs can’t reach, never to be seen again. At least, not until you have company. And even then, strictly rationed on a one-treat-per-resident child basis, while the guests are encouraged to gorge themselves with careless abandon.
8 Your children get more wear out of your high-heeled shoes than you do. They’re regularly to be found tottering around the bedroom in your gorgeous stilettos which are normally gathering dust at the back of your wardrobe. Because nowadays you only ever get out to weddings, christenings and funerals (increasingly, the latter, unfortunately). And the slinky dress you bought them for hasn’t fitted you since about 2009.
9 Your favourite aspect of a foreign holiday is no longer the free-flowing wine, nor the balmy evenings spent lazing by the beach feeling warm sand beneath your toes. No, now it is the ease with which you get to dry your kids’ clothes. And the fact that you get to bribe them with ice cream every night.
Similarly, the Irish sun making an occasional appearance is no longer cue for catching a few sneaky rays in the back garden. Now you’re more likely to be found stripping the beds than getting out the Ambre Solaire.
10 You start buying your Christmas presents in July. Oh, and now you know one end of a turkey from the other.
11 You’ve a medicine cabinet to rival that of your local GP, and are by now on first-name terms with their receptionist. You know which antibiotic is generally used for which child ailment, and which ones cut the backside off the children: you have tried every variety of nappy cream known to man, and own five types of thermometer, none of which you really know how to use.
12 And lastly, even as you start to recognise that you’re turning into your own mother, it turns out that actually you don’t really mind all that much.
Because, let’s face it, she was a pretty stellar lady. And if you turn out to be even half the woman she was, well, you won’t be doing half bad at all.
