Comment: The moments when you begin morphing into your mam

As a teenager, I – like many other girls my age – despaired of my mother.

Oh, I’d fight anyone who so much as gave her a sideways glance, but when it came to her personal foibles, my patience wore thin.

Very, very thin.

Instead of helping her at the till when she ‘lost’ her credit card for the 14th time that day, I’d roll my eyes at the cashier in a forced symbol of solidarity as the poor woman foostered and fumbled for a card she had squirrelled away for ‘safekeeping’.

When she’d deign to call me ‘trendy’ with a tinge of pride in her voice, I’d deliver a scathing rebuke that basically informed her if she thought I was trendy, I mostly certainly wasn’t. (I was right, in fairness.)

And then there were all those times she attracted the attention of random oddballs in public and instead of keeping her distance, chatted, engaged and made that person feel part.

What a witch – I know.

With the knack of feeling embarrassed by anything and everything as a teen, I saw my mother’s kind approach as something to be embarrassed by, instead of proud of.

And then it started happening.

I started losing my credit card every time I so much as considered leaving the house.

I gawped at teenagers and often pondered their style.

And I found myself falling into animated conversations with strangers who had little to no grasp on reality, and I thoroughly enjoying the exchanges that followed.

Oh, and it doesn’t stop there.

I adopt a ‘pay by wear’ approach when buying clothes, I opt for Avonmore Super Milk over anything else because she’s drilled the importance of bone health and good nutrition into me for as long as I can remember, and I often flash my bra in public by complete accident. (Don’t ask.)

And aside from the potential public indecency charge, every single one of these traits has stood me in good stead.

They have made me more financially aware, health-conscious and…well… empathetic.

Pity I didn’t start morphing sooner, right?