Apple not far from the tree, see how it falls.. and falls
Friday, November 14, 2008
I got some good advice last week, although I don’t think it was intended as such, and unfortunately I didn’t follow it.
My mum is convinced I am dying on a daily basis. I am going to get a blood clot or heart attack or whatever, especially if I get pregnant, because I am obese. I find it really fucking interesting that she knows how healthy I am, or not, as it were, from her week long visits 3-4 times a year. (Although it explains a lot about these past few months and Jelly Man..)
Jelly Man gets exasperated from the blatant hypocrisy she exhibits when she comes. It’s fast food this and fast food that almost EVERY day she is here, and chocolate this, chocolate that. When Carlita was younger we explicitly told her NOT to let her drink soda and yet.. We saw her help Carlita holding a glass full of soda because Carlita was so young (maybe a year and a half) that she couldn’t hold it steady on her own. She fed her french fries when we told her not to, and now that is all Carlita will eat the few times we DO eat fast food, so we quit buying fries for ourselves to try and get her to eat something a little more varied. My mum? Has to have fries, with a mountain of mayonnaise to dip them in.
It’s not that we don’t want Carlita to have any of these things - I think it would be wonderful to indulge her every now and then, but I wanted to wait longer - much, much longer. Does mum care? No, of course not. She comes 3-4 times a year and decides for us, and when she then goes home we are left with the aftermath. We can’t undo the things she does. The things she does despite our pleas.
My mum was born in ‘61 and she was somewhat of a wild child. She revolted against set rules of society, she beat her own path, having me young and all - and now she is kind of stuck in that rut. She thinks the only generation to have new thoughts, about life and the world in general was her own. The only people who “gets it” are her people. That the choices that other people make should be choices that she UNDERSTANDS, because gods know it isn’t enough that we are genuinely happy with the way we live our lives.
So, she took advantage of Jelly Man the visit before last, when he drove her to the airport alone (my mistake, won’t happen again - unless I manage, again, to forget how easily she slips back into her role as ALL KNOWING MOTHER*bleep*.) He bought her a bun and coffee and in return she told him how it is all his fault that I am fat, that IT IS HIS RESPONSIBILITY to get me to lose weight because he is my “boyfriend”. It’s bitter because she is willing to point the finger on him but can’t see that it ALL STARTED WITH HER. No, never HER. And when I confront her she tells me that she turned on Jelly Man because I don’t give a damn about myself, so she had to…
Ahem.
That is pretty much the point where I laugh AND cry hysterically, because REALLY? The only way I could possibly care about myself would be if I were to starve myself? I can’t possibly be eating healthy since I am still fat, right? I can’t possibly eat well or exercise, or I would be THIN, like HER. In true irony we never eat as much junk as when she is around. In true irony Carlita never had a sip of soda or a taste of french fries before she came around, breaking a pact that Jelly Man and I made together to try and give Carlita as healthy a start as possible.
Sometimes I think she feels that that is her cross to bear - that her only child grew up fat. Jelly Man was a fat, adopted kid and his mum was relentless about it (“look at you, you have tits!“), so in his late teens (after she died) he lost a lot of weight (with the help of not-so-legal substances), and ever since he has starved himself periodically because his natural weight is not skeletal, but he doesn’t feel good about himself if he gets too heavy. When we met his hip-bones were sticking out, now he looks “normal”, but his eating habits are anything but. We want to set a good example for Carlita, but when both of us have this emotional/food baggage and chips on our shoulders it’s hard enough without someone coming in and deliberately throwing a stick in the machinery despite our pleas not to.
It’s not that I think she is malicious, but her mind is as narrow as my asscrack. People, it is TIRESOME. And infuriating, because I have only one mother and I don’t want to despise her. She comes here and complains that my grandmother and uncle try to meddle in her life by telling her what she should be doing, yet she can’t see that when she comes here and do the things she does she is merely passing it on. And when she comes here and complains about the rest of the family I have no trouble seeing her complaining to the rest of the family about us when she gets back home. (In our most recent argument her stance was that I shouldn’t be so upset with her because she doesn’t mention how this place looks or how we raise Carlita - AND THAT SHE WOULD HAVE THE RIGHT TO COMPLAIN BUT IS GRACIOUS ENOUGH NOT TO, AS IF IT WAS ANY OF HER BUSINESS IN THE FIRST PLACE.)
So, I guess it’s a lot of issues rolled up in one big fat lump of distrust. It’s not that I don’t think she would be there for me in a heartbeat if I needed her, but I fear it will always come with a price. And sometimes I think I’d be better off relying on someone else - like Jelly Man (always), or Jelly Man’s dad. Often enough I think that the only family that is good for me is the one I’ve created for myself with Jelly Man - and that is sad. Infinitely so. Because I know not everyone is as lucky to still have their mum alive and somewhat well. And I worry that I can only be at peace with her once she is no longer with us.
That right there just breaks my heart.
So next time I’m going to listen to the advice, that wasn’t really advice, and hug my mum the minute she arrives, because gods know when I can bring myself to do it otherwise.
