more mush

I know, I know. I am a TERRIBLE blogger. Let me try to make it up to ya.

First, my dear angel girl is eleven years old! Eleven! I can’t believe it was eleven years ago that I was handed my first baby. I distinctly remember lying in my bed with her when she was just a few days old and listening to a cassette tape (I KNOW, RIGHT??!) that my Aunt Karen gave me at my baby shower. The words to one song just really got to me. “Nappy time’s a happy time for children and for mothers…All snuggled up and cuddled up, tucked between the covers…The sun has gone to sleep and so blah blah blah blah blah….Nappy time’s a happy way to end a happy day!”

Er, um, something like that. Annnnyway. I laid in bed next to my new baby and bawled my eyes out. I don’t know if I had a touch of postpartum depression or what. But I could not stop crying – because although I was kind of a baby myself (twenty years old) and a very foolish girl, I was wise enough to realize that this babyhood was not going to last long, and before I could even react, she’d be too old for me to hold and hold and hold…with no words, no entertainment, just each other. And…the time has definitely come. I’ll never just cuddle her for hours again.

At eleven, Clara is both independent and needy. She likes to hole up in a room and watch TV by herself. She likes to play on the computer alone. She likes to stay home for a few minutes by herself sometimes. But…she still loves to be taken care of. She likes to have her apples peeled. She likes to have breakfast made for her. She likes to sleep on a pallet on the weekends. She has matured and grown so much that sometimes I forget. She IS still a little girl. It’s hard to be her age. It’s hard to feel like you want your mom to leave you the hell alone, and at the very same exact time, you still want all the attention in the world from your mom.

I’m trying so hard to be a good mom to my daughter. It’s amazing how difficult that is…I mean, when your kids are little, being a good mom means making sure they don’t hit or bite others. That they share their toys. That they get a good night’s sleep and eat halfway decent meals and snacks. Being a mom to an older child is HARDER. Yeah – they don’t need you to tie their shoes and cut their chicken and hold them and watch them every second. So there’s a little more freedom there. But…then…on the other hand, they don’t need you to tie their shoes and cut their chicken and hold them and watch them every second. So there’s lots of room for them to mess up and get hurt. And that is TOUGH to deal with. Not only that, but you have to make yourself available. You have to let them know they can come to you with ANYTHING. But you still have to maintain the parent-child relationship, rather than being their friend. You have to deal with the tough issues. You have to swallow your fears and embarrassment and talk to them about sex and drugs and all the stuff that makes you wish you could crawl into a hole. And you have to HIDE the fact that you are mortified, because if your child sees that you are mortified, she might not come to you when she needs to talk about whatever embarrassing subject that’s come up in her life.

When Clara was born, I wrote my mother a letter and apologized for being so horrible to her. I know my mom messed up sometimes – she’s a person. I didn’t realize that though. She was ONLY my mother – a being with no feelings and a cold heart who HATED me and didn’t let me do ANYTHING. The second my daughter came into the world I realized how wrong I was. I realized how much my mother probably beat herself up over things she felt she messed up about, and how she did the absolute most and best she could, which was actually a heck of a lot better than I gave her credit for. I realized that she had my well-being in mind in the decisions she made for me. And I immediately regretted every single bad time we ever had (which was a LOT, about age 14 till 19, we were miserable with each other). And I am above thankful that my mom and I love and appreciate each other now. She is truly one of my best friends.

Yeah, I know now – it isn’t easy at all. I know it’s not going to get any easier. I know that rather than preparing for all of this and talking about all of this, it’s actually going to HAPPEN. Soon. Wish me luck. Wish my poor daughter luck.

By the way, this was NOT SUPPOSED to be all sad and mushy – I had a list of things to write about. See, when I think of something I want to include in my blog but I don’t have time to blog right that minute, I email myself little notes. Here are the notes that I started using to write this post:


mattatician

clara's pictures

yes, mammary!

Drill team reunion

So, see? I went waaaaaay off track. And this is so long now – let that list be a little teaser that I’ll cover soon.