Parents

So, my mother is a kind and wonderful woman who worries a lot, which is where I got it from.  The worrying, not the kind and wonderful.  Only because I don't particularly consider myself kind or wonderful.. not that I think I am but believe it came from somewhere else as if I self-manifested it because I'm that awesome.  No, I think she just passed on the worrying.  And the flat chest. 
Anyways, hereditary worrying is okay by me.  I like being a worry wart.   If you don't embrace it, you'll just hate yourself and everyone will wonder why you're always trying so hard to act cool.  Few things are worse than someone trying too hard to act cool.  Just come out of the closet with your worriness and people will accept you for it.... and probably make fun of you a little too.  But in a loving way, not a mean way.
All that said, my mom's a worry wart and she worries about all sorts of stuff she shouldn't even have to think about.  And if I was a good daughter I wouldn't add to her troubles but I'm not, so I post all sorts of random stories about what a lush I am and how bad I am at cooking and yardwork, thus increasing her worry-ometer and pushing her, probably, to the brink of mental collapse.
So tonight I was on the phone with her and she said "Well, I wasn't going to get in the middle of it, but I think I will - " and I have to admit I held my breath, trying to think of which blog post she was going to zero in on this time.  Would it be my bad texting habits?  My tendency to tell people I'm away from my home over Facebook?   My coat doesn't look 'wintery' enough?   It could be any number of things.

It wasn't anything, just a random story really that was no big deal.  But the more I thought about it afterwards, the more I realized that my mother and I are slipping into this crazed rabbit hole, where I worry about what she is worrying about, and she worries about what I worry about her worrying about and so on and so forth - until one day we're just going to have to both go on Vicodin or something to make it all stop.

And so continues the saga of life after becoming your mother in adulthood.