By She She

Before I had kids, I always thought I wanted girls. Only girls. I wanted to raise up a tribe of Amazon warrior princesses, little centered beings, preternaturally strong and wise. What did I know from boys? I might as well have Dalmatian dogs, for all I knew about boys.

Man, was I wrong. It was girls I didn’t know.

I spent the first year and a half of your life in a postpartum depressive fog, which is only now just clearing for good. On most days, the sun shines and I can see through whatever fog is left. I don’t remember much of your infancy, but I do remember clearly a particular day when you were about 9 months old. That day, one of your caregivers described you as a strong-willed baby who was going to be a strong-willed woman. I froze in fear. All along, I had thought you might be a sweet, serious girl – like your sweet, serious older brother. Horrified, I thought, “I don’t know this child at all.” I panicked. How could I have not seen this? You’re so full of life. If there’s a race to run or a hurdle to jump over, you’re there in full force. When I imagine you in my mind now, I see a blur of happy motion. But then, in the postpartum haze of unhappiness I didn’t see you at all. How could I have let this go on so long? I thought I was just stressed out, over-tired, a typical new mother. But, no, this was much worse. Much, much worse. This kind woman’s comment about you shook me so that I sought help for my depression right away. Thank god I did.

Sigh. Big, heavy, sad sigh. I wish I had been more present for you then. You deserved a mother who adored you from the get-go.

But now I’m better, getting better every day. This year I had to fill out one of those never-ending forms for pre-school where they ask you questions like, “How would you describe your child?” This was the first year I didn’t parrot what others said about you. This year, I filled all of the lines provided without hesitation. When I finally lifted pen from paper, I thought, “Wow. That was easy.” That’s progress.

You’re such a strong girl, strong in so many ways. And, as it is with almost everything, your strength is a double-edged sword. You can be obstinate and willful, more sass than sense. You don’t always do what I ask when I ask. In a word, non-compliant.

In my family, this was a cardinal sin for girls. In my family, the boys were stars, and the girls were supposed to be compliant. I wasn’t compliant, and neither was my sister. (This trait must carried on the x chromosome.) Because non-compliance was so unacceptable, I felt like I was broken, damaged goods. I came to this realization recently, and it scared the hell out of me. This is what I had been thinking about you! I thought it’s only a matter of time before something happens to bring out the inherent brokenness in you.

Nora, sometimes I feel like you deserve another mother, a mother who isn’t so driven by her childhood demons. A sunny, supportive, light-hearted mother, or a true Amazon warrior queen who can pass on her wisdom and strength to you. But, honey, your mama is just trying to figure it all out without doing too much damage along the way. And sometimes I can’t get out of my own way enough to even see who you are.

But let me tell you something I know now, Nora. There isn’t a damn thing wrong with you. You’re not predestined to have a difficult life because you’re a head-strong girl. Being strong-willed is your gift, not your curse. You’re not broken already. It’s mama’s lens that’s a little broken, a little cracked. Sometimes it prevents me from seeing you exactly as you are. But everyday, I’m polishing and polishing. I want more than anything in the world to be able to see you clearly, to be able to see my strong, bright, healthy, loving, glorious, funny, non-compliant daughter.

This old Hammerstein song just popped into my head.

Getting to know you.
Getting to know all about you.
Getting to like you.
Getting to hope you like me.

Actually, Nora, it’s not so important that you like me. It would be nice if we were one of those mother-daughter teams who like to do things together – go to the movies, have lunch, take walks – but I think we may need to walk across some coals before we get to the other side. We’re both head-strong and impatient, and I see some butting heads in our future. I pray to the god who still lives in my agnostic heart that when we finally do get to the other side, we’re both still standing, holding hands, facing the future together.

But for now I have a bigger wish. I want you to know I like you. I want you to feel it in every molecule in your body. I never want you to doubt that you are wanted and loved, exactly as you are, exactly as you came to us. There’s nothing about you that needs fixing. And your mama’s got your back.

Last Sunday in church, the minister said that even though we all make mistakes, inside we’re perfect. You leaned against me and asked, “Am I perfect, Mama?”

Yes, Nora, you are perfect.

Just as you are.

Originally posted here.