"I Am Your Mother"

My relationship with my daughter grows more complicated.

Most pronounced is her clear disapproval of me when I am not giving her what she wants. She has frustration when she cannot reach something, and she directs it at me when I want her to try to reach for it. She has developed a kind of hollering at me when I am not understanding what she is asking for. I am noticing the most inner ripples that happen when she is less pleased with me; I am seeing how it makes me want her to like me. In those moments, I tiptoe around her, not wanting to say the wrong thing. I treat her like the cool girl in school whose approval I crave.

In those moments, I have to remind myself, "I am your mother."

"Those are your toes and I can kiss them if I want to. You are crying, and I don't know why, but I'm sure it's for a good reason, and I will do my best to find out. But I am still your mother. And I love you. And I hope you will forgive me for not knowing how to make you smile right now."

I am new to parenting, and I allow myself these old reactions as they emerge in the face of learning how to parent my child. But I know that I am going to disappoint, frustrate, enrage, confuse, sadden her. Sometimes I will do it without knowing...always it will be without meaning to...and often, it will be the expense of parenting her in ways that are in her best interest. There will not be a place to worry about whether or not she likes me.

The challenge, I find, is that I have had the deepest respect for my daughter since the moment she was conceived. I have believed from the beginning that she knows how to grow and communicate exactly what she needs. Her sadness and grumpiness and hollering is, I have believed, all for a good reason. I have marveled at her ability to be so honest, and I have been humbled by what it teaches me about being honest. I have found that I look up to her. In my dreams, while I was pregnant, she was not a baby; she was an eight-year-old girl with a sense of humor and an agenda, an idea of what career she wanted to pursue, a strong preference for certain wardrobe items. Even now, I look at my child as if she already knew how to think the words, how to make decisions...she just doesn't know how to say them yet. I see in her face — so so beautiful — an awareness that is ancient. I wonder if I have it in me, too. I wonder if I passed it on to her, or if she brought it to her life from somewhere else.

How, then, can I find the wisdom and the confidence to know more than she about so...many...things? How will I discipline her, see her marked disapproval, and be able to tell myself that I am doing the right thing?

I don't know.

When my daughter is nursing, she gently pats me as she falls into a quiet sleep — still awake, but deeply calm. I think the patting is her way of calming herself. But...geesh, it also seems like she is trying to calm me. Wise, wise soul.