cuttin' the cord.

My mother and I have had a lot of trouble getting along lately. 

The lack of getting along part, however, has nothing to do with the typical mother-daughter arguments. Or at least, they're atypical by my definition of the word.  They have nothing to do with embarrassing dances in public or missing Sunday mass or dating rebels who drive motorcycles.  It's not that.  I wouldn't bore you with that. What we have here is a classic example of the motherly anxiety associated with the youngest of chicks (bu-dum-cha) ready to fly the coop.

Her argument: you're too young

My argument: I'm a grown ass woman

There are so many damn things that I don't know.  Like practical things.  Like when my AC is leaking water, what do I do? Do I call someone? Who do I call? Am I gonna get electrocuted if I try to clean up the spill?

All questions that, for 22 years, have been answered for me.  And really, I didn't even know they were questions before.  I didn't realize air conditioners got clogged or leaked or needed filter changes. My mother handled all of those questions and answers -- all before I woke up for breakfast.  I don't mean this in a resentful way, but I grew up oblivious.

Today, I'm a homeowner.  A college graduate. Starting medical school in two days, and I'm ready for the umbilical cord to be cut. Ready to learn - on my own - what to do if I'm having air conditioning problems. Ready to be on my own both financially and personally.  I love my mom, and I am so effing grateful for everything she's given me. I'm grateful for the knowledge that she did include me on, and grateful for the 35 bazillion plays, pep rallies, gymnastic showcases, and academic banquets she attended in my honor. 

But it's time for me to put on my big girl panties now and start fending for myself.  After all, I'm never going to learn how to handle practical problems if someone else solves them for me 24/7.  And by cutting the cord, it doesn't mean that I don't want her to be a part of my life.  I need her support-- I still need her help, but from one adult to another --- not from one mommy to her little training wheels wearing child.

And hell, maybe this time next year after I've been living a life of student loans and ramen noodles and having to pluck my eyebrows by myself (without the luxury of getting them waxed professionally), I'll admit what an idiot I was. But for now, I'm ready for a little independence...

PS: if you're wondering why I chose an AC anecdote (not saying that you are), it's because my air conditioner was indeed spilling pools of nastiness down onto the AC closet floor.  But instead of calling my mom, I called American Home Shield, scheduled an appointment, and wrote a check for the service fee all by myself. Because I'm a grown ass woman.