B-Side

H₂Oh, Mom

I don’t remember my mom ever chugging water.

She nudged herself toward it instead — a wedge of lemon, a quiet push, a shrug and a few sips. It wasn’t a routine. It wasn’t intentional. It was just the way she moved through a day. And I never thought much about it. Until I started going half a day without a drink and realizing: I’ve become a little too good at going without.

I used to call it forgetfulness. Now I wonder if it was something more — if some of us inherit a low thirst the way others inherit dimples or a way of laughing. We don’t reach for water naturally. We have to remember to. We have to relearn what our bodies already know.

And here’s the thing about delay: the more you do it, the less your body asks. Chronic underhydration blunts the signal. The whisper gets quieter. Which is a problem, because that whisper is doing real work — cushioning your joints, regulating your temperature, keeping your digestion moving, clearing waste, sharpening your thinking. The mid-afternoon fog that settles in around three o’clock? Could be dehydration. The craving that won’t quit? Could be thirst wearing a disguise.

My mom didn’t count ounces. She didn’t journal about thirst. But she had her ritual — the lemon, the push, the sigh — and it kept her moving in the right direction. What I understand now that I didn’t then is that the ritual mattered more than the amount. Tying hydration to something you already do — a glass before lunch, something cold after your morning walk — is the difference between a habit that holds and a resolution that lasts until Tuesday.

There’s a version of this that isn’t about discipline at all. It’s about making water feel like something. A squeeze of citrus. A handful of mint. Something sparkling with a slice of lime. Even herbal tea counts — iced hibiscus, rooibos, whatever makes it feel less like a chore and more like a choice you’d actually make.

I think of water now not as a habit but as a kindness. The smallest, clearest way to say: I’m taking care of this body today.

My mom didn’t say that out loud. She just reached for the lemon. And she nudged herself forward anyway.

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