It started with a curse.
"One day I hope you have a daughter who is just like you." She sneered exasperatedly at me. I was 12 at the time. I probably rolled my eyes like the sweet cherubic preteen I was and went on my merry little way thinking that if I bred, my child would never be as awesome as I clearly was.
That curse was repeated many times over the years and each time I just rolled my eyes and muttered something witty under my breath.
Then the moment arrived and a wee small bundle of pink beautiful squalling infant was placed in my arms and as I looked lovingly down upon this amazing daughter I had created, my mother whispered softly in my ear, "You'll see. She is going to be just. like. you." Then she laughed maniacally Muahahahaha and life has never been the same since.
Clearly, the situation I am in is all my mother's fault and has nothing to do with my own smart ass tendencies.
My daughter Fric, she has morphed from the sweet angelic cherub I once cradled in my arms into a demonic hormonal minion of Satan. She takes glee in pushing every damn button I have and then snakes off to her room to stick pins in a voodoo doll in my image and plot her next plan to drive me stark raving mad.
Welcome to teenagedom Tanis. It made it's entrance (complete with fireworks and noise makers) six months before Fric officially turns 13 and I fear life as I once knew it is never coming back.
The difference between my own 12 year old self and my 12 year old daughter: I was ALWAYS right and my daughter clearly knows nothing and needs to be molded into compliance.
It's not been that many years since I was 12 so I don't know why I am finding this time frame so shockingly difficult. I still remember wearing my first training bra, making gooey eyes at the Green Eyed boy named Jamie and using my allowance to buy a shiny pink frosted tube of lipstick.
I remember my mother encouraging me to go easy on the green eyeshadow and blue mascara and to try not to be so heavy handed when applying eyeliner.
But the difference between now and then is back then I just thought my mother was trying to harsh my buzz and that she didn't understand the angst of teenage pain.
Clearly, I see now she was trying to avoid being seen in public with the walking circus freak I had morphed into.
All those times I sassed my parents and rolled my eyes causing my mother's head to pop off and roll under the bed? Back then I just thought "NO ONE UNDERSTANDS WHAT I'M GOING THROUGH AND THE WORLD IS SO UNFAIR!!!"
Now I understand I was a deliquent child who was entirely incapable of processing all the damn hormones whizzing about in my brain preventing me from forming any coherent thoughts.
Those baggy acid washed jeans that I begged my mom for weeks to buy for me only to cry a river of tears when she refused?
I see now how I learned a valuable lesson about saving my money and purchasing them for myself. I also see why she snickered behind her hands every damn time I wore them, because I looked like a goober.
I won't even address all the money I begged my mom to spend on Aqua-Net and assorted hair products so I could tease my bangs straight up in the air in my attempts to look fashionable. Mainly because I'm too busy hiding all the hair products from my own child so she doesn't repeat the same hair attrocities I did.
You would think for all my insights into the teenaged brain, I would be better equipped to deal with the curve balls my children like to toss at me at an alarming rate.
Obviously, I wasn't as smart as I thought I was growing up. (You'll have to hog tie me and drag me through a field of cacti before I admit that to my mother.)
But with the bulk of the teenage years looming over me like the blade of the guillotine, I'm not sure I am strong enough to get through the next steps of parenting without dooming my own daughter with the dreaded curse.
Short of duct taping my mouth shut, I just know one of these days I will completely metamorphasize into my own mother and whisper, "I hope oneday you have a daughter exactly like yourself so you will know."
Dammit. If only I could have controlled my smart mouth back then.
This is all my mother's fault. If only she hadn't made me into a pimple faced, snotty little brat to begin with.