My seven year old daughter has mastered the art of eye rolling. And the craft of storming out of a room in a huff. And the skills of deep sighs, moody stares and angry foot-stomps. She knows how to draw the attention in a room. She knows how to make her friends laugh. She isn't afraid to talk to the boy she has a crush on, or speak her mind or proclaim her love or hatred of a given thing. I have been joking about her being on the cusp of turning into a teenager for years now, to the point where she happily quotes it herself, though I realize that I have probably only seen the tip of the hormonal iceberg that is, quite literally dead-ahead. The spirit of this child is something I never felt as a little girl. And hallelujah for her. I don't use the word bossy. I don't call her out for insisting on being the leader. If I could have one wish for her as she faces a world that still pays women less for the same job, it's that she never loses that fire.
How do you arm a little girl with the tools she needs in life? How do you show her how to be the kind of woman that loves herself enough to walk through any room with confidence, but also knows how to protect herself when the need arises. As cliche as it sounds, having a daughter, and a strong-willed one at that, ignites the desire in me to be a better woman- not necessarily a better mom or a better person per se, although of course I want that too, but a better female- one that never apologizes for what she feels, one that isn't afraid of stepping on toes, one that doesn't say "ewww!" when she shows me the cricket she caught (ok, that one is a work in progress...). I don't have all the answers on how to raise a daughter the right way, but inspiration is certainly not lacking.
This girl looks more like me every day. Freckles dust her nose and cheeks now, we both instantly turn red as little lobsters in the sun and as her face gets older, I catch a look or an angle and see a bit of myself there, behind her dark eyes. But I don't want her to be me. As a woman, I have taken the harder path when it comes to a lot of things. I want her to figure out some of the tougher stuff long before I did. I want her to be her, because that person is shaping up to be the kind of woman I have always wanted to be.
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My five year old son builds a wall of stuffed animals on one side of his bed every night before he goes to sleep. His animal friends are carefully arranged in some kind of supposed pecking order, according to him, so their placement is important and takes a few moments to construct. In general, more is better, so he piles them high and then crashes into sleep surrounded by their furry little faces. The animals are on a rotation. Some nights, Big Elephant is king and holds the prime spot right at the pillow and my son happily squeezes the life out of him. But some nights Elephant is lodged halfway under the bed next to some Legos and dirty socks and Balbeg the Bear holds the spot of honor.
I love whatever it is that got into his head to generate this bedtime ritual. I'm sure it's about comfort and routine and having some control over his little world, but to me it's him- his love, his physicality, his little boy silliness, his stubborn self- everything that makes him who he is. I look at him and don't see a single spot of me- not a freckle, not a fingertip, not a single Scottish gene in his whole little body. Ok, maybe a tiny bit of that stubbornness...... But still, difference not withstanding, he is mine.
Being a mom to this little boy has been just as much of a redefining process as was being a mom for the first time with my daughter. Every day, something different, like his recent announcement that "real men don't wear shirts to bed!" as he marched off to his room with just his Batman PJ shorts on. I have been a single parent for more than half of his life and I know that I overcompensate. I know that I don't always make the right choices for him, like still scooping him up and telling him he is my tiny little baby and that he should never leave me. :) But I know the days where he will still giggle and allow those things to happen are numbered and I will mourn them when they are gone. I know there is a day where he will probably outgrow me and have to stoop down to give me a hug. I know that there is a day, much sooner than that, when he will look at me with judgement in his eye and think "Ugh, she doesn't know anything!" (Like, seriously guys, Minecraft? Can anyone explain??) But for now, Mom has all the answers, even when I don't, and thank goodness for that.
There is not a single busy, crazy, stressful, happy, fly-by day that goes by that I don't marvel at the amazing contradiction of challenge and reward that is parenting. Even on nights where I am so exhausted by their bedtime that I could easily lay down and sleep beside them, even on days where there is no time to do EVERYTHING I need to do, even on freezing cold mornings on soccer fields, and during long nights of stomachaches and leg cramps, even when they ask for something over and over and over again, wishing for a different answer, even when I feel the heartbreaking pull of wanting to be with them fight against the desire to make a career for myself, even when they leave their coat on the bus or their trash in the car or their dirty cups on the table, even when they refuse to wear the new shoes I just bought them that fit in the store but are now miraculously horribly uncomfortable, even when they disobey or fight or talk back or make me cry or leave me speechless, even then.....I thank the lucky twist of fate that made me their mom. There is nothing harder, nothing more frustrating, nothing more challenging....and nothing better.
Happy Mother's Day
