I'm becoming my mother

Shit. Right? That's my first reaction. There's that cliche in existence that we all become our parents eventually, whether we want to or not. Of course, our teenage selves shake our fists at such a notion. "I'll never be my parents" I always said--of course, one of them is a selfish, abusive alcoholic so I've steered clear of that fate.
But my mother? I already look like her--dark hair, dark eyes, and other hints here and there, though we've determined I inherited my father's straightass nose. I already sound like her too, sometimes I laugh and it's my mother's voice coming from my mouth, not my own.
And please, don't misunderstand me. I love my mother. When she needs to vent, though I hate it, I will sit on the phone with her for hours and let her vent at me. I have wiped my mother's tears, held her hand through hardships, given her money when she was between teaching paychecks, just like she's done for me. My mother is one of the strongest women that I know. She has done all she can to keep us together through the shit storm that is my father.
But... I don't want to be her. I also fear if she ever sees this. The last thing I'd ever want to do is break my mother's heart. But I don't want to be her. Don't we all dive into life trying to escape our parent's mistakes? Promising to fix them, to be better because of them. Sometimes it doesn't happen--like with my younger brother now. But I don't want to marry someone who treats me like my father treated her (check that one off, because it would never happen, though I did date someone like my father and got pretty wrecked during the exit and blah blah I'm a better person now because of it blah). I don't want to hate some many things about my body as it ages. I don't want to raise children to turn out like my brothers have--disrespectful, self-conscious, selfish, rude, disobedient, self-harming... These things are not all her fault. Of course they aren't. My mother had loved us more than we'll ever know--and a lot of it is my father, of course, and his influence.
This got super serious and dark pretty fast, let's lighten up.
I also have a mother who had worn turtlenecks her whole life. I know, I know, they're back in. But the cotton ones reminds me of elementary school, ones with little Christmas trees on them or something. They always made me feel like I was choking. And then, of course, the 2000s came along and they were SO not in. It's certainly a generational thing.
My mother had always risen early, enjoyed way too many cups of coffee, etc. I used to think HOW DO YOU DRINK SO MUCH COFFEE?? (I still do, sometimes). And until this year, I did not enjoy rising early. I did not enjoy getting up before 8 am. Back as a freshmen in college, I didn't get up before 11 am. Jesus Christ I almost just had a heart attack looking at that. I've been at work since 7 am and it's not even 11 yet!
Basically, I look as my mom, I hear her commanding "mom-voice" I look at her clothes, her analogies she makes, the things she enjoys, how little time she has to herself with a 16-year-old kid still living with her at 52 and I can see it all coming on. I enjoy cooking as my evening activity. I like when my boyfriend and I match when we go to weddings. I RUN. I like my coffee in the morning and getting up early doesn't bother me in the slightest. I wear clothes my mother approves of. I no longer dream about dying my hair bright crayola-crayon colors. I admonish my younger brother and he actually sort of listens! Now, I still hate turtlenecks and I still rock out to Blink 182, Simple Plan, and Linkin Park when they're on the radio, remembering my punk-ier days, but it's in the past. I'm never getting that stuff back. And I think it's kind of STAGGERING, this realization that I'm becoming like my mother, an adult in my own right. We cut my hair last week and it even resembles my mother's now.
These thoughts make me want tattoos and to dye my hair and crazy color still, because I certainly have a streak of rebellion. And I hope it never leaves. I love my mother. But I will try and accept this growing older thing, accept the wrinkles and sagging skin and I will marry a good person she can be proud of. All I really want is to make her proud, in the end. And you know, it's from her I get my strength, it really is. So maybe turning into my mother wouldn't be such a bad thing.
As long as I don't have to wear turtlenecks.