in early january, i received a reminder to bring my boys in for their shots.

eric said he was feeling fine. but i insisted.

okay, okay. i have a confession to make. i have kittens. two of 'em. and if you don't like cats, then i suppose you'll just have to think lesser of me for the introduction of this story. and if you like cats because of the way they crawl up in your cleavage while you sleep or cuddle between your legs while you're watching tv, then we have something in common.

anyway. here's the scene. isaac and jermaine (the cats). doctors' office. the vet is examining the kids, doing the routine check up when it comes time for the "biggest loser" weigh in.

jermaine comes in at a respectable 6 or 7 pounds, qualifying him for the lightweight kitty wrestling competition.

isaac, on the other hand, qualifies for kitty sumo wrestling.

"uhhhhh," the vet says. "isaac could use to lose a little weight."

i examined the vet - giving him the once over. "couldn't we all?" i said.

at which point, i begin laughing hysterically (a two snort laugh - just as a point of reference). hardly because what i had to say was funny.

but because it is exactly something my mom would have said.

and then i called my mom, my dad, my brother, and my sister individually to tell them exactly what happened.

which is also exactly what my mom would have done.

one of the funniest things about growing older is how, in spite of it all and in spite of ourselves, we become just like our parents.

i'm not sure exactly when it happened, but somewhere between the time i realized that sucking my fingers wasn't cool and the time i became a pro-fake-ssional, i grew up and grew into the best - and worst - of my parental units.

i wanted to be a physical therapist just like my mom, but instead have become a ball-busting (soon-to-be) businesswoman just like my dad. i hoped for the petite build of my mom's family, but wound up with the hips and thighs of the rosenbaums. i wanted the ability to never cry in the face of adversity like my dad, but inevitably wind up on the verge of tears like my mom. i hoped for the saintly patience of my mom (santa barbara de pinecrest), but always lose my temper like my dad.

i got the blue eyes. the hypoglycemia. the frizzy hair. the attitude. the ingrown toenails. the inability to understand trigonometry. the love for shopping. the intolerance for incompetence.

(although i escaped the debilitating anxiety and capacity to lose a car in any parking lot like some of my other siblings.)

and just like (both) my parents, i got the irritable bowel. but i think all the kids got that.

i'm not sure if it's nature or nurture or just an awkward coincidence, but i cannot deny that i am a direct product of my parents. yet what is so often underreported is, in spite of it all and in spite of themselves, our parents - too - become just like us: their kids.

i mean, without my input, i do not think that my dad would send me inappropriate, yet hilarious, e-mails and i highly doubt that my mom would threaten her misbehavin' and potty-mouthed adult children with nakedness.

while they might laugh about how their best and worst traits manifested in their children, we are laughing right back. the ability to turn anything into a sexual innuedo has been natured and nurtured right into my parents.

that, my friends, is all me.

... which makes me hope that my children - and my cats - never, ever grow up to be just like me.