Mami expects me to be her caretaker. She expects me to move down South and fill the role of The Nanny, but with less leopard print. This is the master plan she’s concocted without consulting me. “I want you to find housing for me in Charlotte,” Mami suddenly exclaimed to my eldest sister as she rocked my 14-month-old niece to sleep. “I will go first with Sujeiry until you and your husband finally relocate,” Mami decided. Say what?! My ears perked up at the sound of my name. My eyes shot up from my laptop and turned to face my mother. “Hey, lady. Why do you assume I’m coming with you?” I asked, containing my middle-child-syndrome rage. Mami’s brows raised as if not moving in with her would be simply outlandish.
Sure, I’ve been living with her since 2006. But that was out of financial necessity. Yes, I’ve experienced five long years of her controlling ways and Oscar worthy, teary-eyed guilt trips. But I refuse to live a life of doctor’s appointments, Bengay and bouts of fanatical cleaning peppered with, “You missed a spot!”
Read the rest on Mamiverse!