It creeps up on you.
You notice you started wearing gold jewelry after swearing for years that you would never switch from silver.
You invest in larger bras even though you were near flat-chested when you graduated high school. You suddenly realize that you have turned into your mom.
Your face went red when your mom cried when she was moving you to college, but now you are the only one crying in the movie theater when Coco remembers her father.
You may see an old man holding the door open for his wife. It may be a kindergartner sharing her crayons. If you are remotely happy, tears spill down your face.
You have the talk with yourself.
You know the one.
The one that there is food at home, and you do not need Taco Bell.
And somehow there is. Somehow you can mix together a handful of spices and make three days worth of dinners from a couple cans and a box of Minute rice.
You finally go to the grocery store. You have a grocery list, for starters.
You took the time to write down what you wanted instead of wandering around like a lost animal.
You know that sale Kroger is having is actually a rip-off. You know Walmart has bad produce. You hand the cashier a mess of coupons.
You try your best to be home before dark.
You talk to your dog.
You slip into a matching pair of pajamas with buttons on the shirt.
You wear slippers.
The old lady ones with the tiny bows on the tip.
You pour yourself a glass of wine or beer and turn on a Netflix documentary. One glass and you are giggling. You now have the same lightweight trait that you laughed at your mom for a year ago.
You text people about the cat video you just watched.
You share Facebook memes.
In all these ways, you have turned into your mother.