On turning into one's mother

Having babies is exhausting. I wouldn't know, 'cause I've never had one, but waiting around for them to be born is pretty nerve wracking. Rhianon went into the hospital at 8:15 yesterday morning, and Soren (a beautiful--and nearly 10 lb--baby boy) wasn't born until 4:42 this afternoon. Damn! She is a trooper. And me, being me, spent the day worrying, hoping for the best but wondering if the worst had happened. Which of course it didn't, because babies are born every day, and in Canada at least it's pretty safe.

Which leads me to wonder the extent to which I am in danger of becoming my mother. My mom is worry-wart extraordinaire. She's the kind of mother who made me come in and wake her up when I came home at night as a teenager. The kind who, to this day, freaks out if I've taken the car somewhere she doesn't know about. Who assumes that if you're late for something, it's because you've crashed your car and you're unable to phone as you're in a coma. That kind of mother. Which can be great, because unlike some parents, she gives two shits (well, many shits), what happens to my sister and I. On the other hand, it means that I've inherited, at least a little bit, the worrying gene. Now, I don't think its unreasonable to be a bit concerned about a favourite person who has been in the hospital, and out of contact, for 36 hours, but then again, are worry-warts capable of determining what's reasonable? Je ne sais pas.

In other ways, I came thisclose to becoming my mother, and escaped by the width of a hair. For my mom, great as she is, is about the least adventurous person I know. My dad tells the story of our family trip to the east coast (our only family vacation, to my recollection. Part and parcel of the mom package); he drove around Charlottetown asking my mother to choose a local restaurant to eat in. She bypassed every last one, until they hit a Swiss Chalet. No fresh Maritime seafood for her, no siree. And this is a woman who is a quarter P.E.I. Acadian by birth. I ventured down the path of homebody scaredy cat in my undergraduate--I stayed at home--but then realized that I needed to snap the hell out of it if I wanted to have a remotely interesting life, and so moved to Japan. And Kingston. And Halifax. And Toronto. And I think I'm a much less scared, much more interesting person for it.

I'm going to have to keep an eye on the worrying thing. It won't do to assume that my friends have died a fiery death every time they're late for something, which they usually are. But there's no harm in being justifiably concerned, I don't think. Everyone needs a little looking-after once in awhile, and while I'm not a mother and may never be (haven't made up my mind on that one yet), it doesn't hurt to practice just a little.