just like you
I wonder sometimes if I have the right qualifications to be Babs’ mother. We just seem so very different from one another. I see so much of her father in her that I question exactly how much of me was used in the making of this product.
I’ve spent my whole life trying to be quiet. Trying not to be noticed. Even those years that I spent with wildly colored hair were meant as a distraction from the “real me”. I had a cleverly constructed wall built up to protect the “me” that huddled trembling behind that barrier. I knew that if you rejected me, if you called me ugly, if you thought I was a wacko and you didn’t want to be my friend, it was because I looked so different. It wasn’t because you really knew me. So I hid. And was quiet. It’s only been recently that I have slowly allowed the me that I know to venture out from behind that wall. It is a difficult and terrifying journey, but I’ve realized that if I don’t come out I might lose myself forever.
Babs, on the other hand, does everything big. She doesn’t walk, she runs. She doesn’t skip, she jumps. She doesn’t giggle, she throws her head back and erupts with the loudest and most contagious belly laugh you have ever heard. Everything about her is vibrant and alive, and her presence virtually hums with energy. You’ve never fully experienced the joy of life until you’ve experienced it with Babs. Nothing can hold this girl back from achieving her dreams in life. She is a pure, unharnessed force. I love her fiercely and intensely, the way she needs to be loved. But much of the time I am left baffled and overwhelmed in her tumultuous wake.
There are times, although they seem few and far between, when I do notice a brief glimpse of myself in her. She loves the same things I remember loving when I was four years old. She has the same concerns and so many of the same fears. But where I balled everything up deep inside her emotions exist like an ever-changing weather pattern orbiting the surface of her life. She is sunny and bright, shining her light on the world around her and then suddenly and ferociously stormy. The openness with which she experiences her emotions unnerves me. She holds nothing back. I want to fold her up and shield her from the world’s judgment (the spirited child, the difficult child, the strong-willed child are labels that are too freely given and accepted), but there’s nothing I can do to protect her that wouldn’t also stifle who she is. And I never, ever want her to think she is anything less than amazing, just the way she is right at this moment.
We were out in the yard today while Zibbit was napping. I was sitting on the steps, silently withdrawn into my thoughts like am so often. Babs was bounding through the grass in wide, looping circles, searching for frogs and bugs and maybe even a fairy or two. The sky was overcast, so I was dressed in layers but chilled, goose bumps scattered up my arms. Babs was wearing a sundress, no jacket, no shoes. Her hair was windblown and stringy with perspiration, her cheeks flushed bright, and I was struck again by how different she and I approach and encounter life.
After awhile, she ran towards me and pounced into my lap, howling with laughter as I struggled to stay upright under her sudden weight. I gave her an Eskimo kiss, then sat back and traced my finger across the bridge of her nose.
“Did you know you’re starting to get freckles?” I asked her. She sprung up from my lap and scrambled in the house. I heard the scrape of chair legs across the kitchen floor, and followed her in to find her standing on a stool inspecting her face in a mirror. I stood next to her and showed her the faint sprinkle of freckles across her nose and cheeks, and when she saw them she broke into a huge grin. She turned to me and touched my cheek.
“Mommy,” she whispered, “that means I’m going to look just like you!”
That makes me want to cry…in a good way. You are the perfect mother for her and I’m so glad you’re posting again. Love the picture too.
It’s amazing how much of their own personality they bring with them. You can’t force it or change it and really, you wouldn’t want to. I am constantly amazed by my children and often afraid as well. There can’t be a manual when they’re all so different and that’s what makes growing them so lovely.
Comment by Kathryn, DYM — April 20, 2006 @ April 20, 2006 at 10:27 pm
My daughter looks exactly like my husband but has my personality. However, her favorite thing to say is that she looks exactly like me. I know it’s not true, but I’m pleased because I consider it the ultimate compliment to a mom.
Comment by Nancy — April 21, 2006 @ April 21, 2006 at 6:14 am
(Glad you’re back!)
I think you’re daughter will really enjoy reading this someday when she’s a bit older.
What a touching post. Thanks for that.
Comment by Kelli — April 21, 2006 @ April 21, 2006 at 6:16 am
What an awesome post! Thank you for sharing that story. Makes me want to run right home now and play tag in the yard with my kids or something.
Thanks again. It sounds like you are the perfect mommy for Babs - an anchor in the storms (good and bad) of her emotions.
Comment by OddMix — April 21, 2006 @ April 21, 2006 at 6:32 am
Perfect. Amazingly powerful post. Thank you.
Comment by Theresa — April 21, 2006 @ April 21, 2006 at 6:41 am
As parents, I think we are often forced to be/do more than we imagined we could. My partner and I are both introverted and we have been blessed with two of the most extroverted children in our circle of friends. They push us to our limits and force us to experience the world differently than we otherwise would and we are better people as a result. You have captured the essence of that experience…thank you..
Comment by Vikki — April 21, 2006 @ April 21, 2006 at 7:11 am
How totally precious! Duchess looks exactly like me and acts exactly like me. And it’s funny how she cherishes it too. Like being like me is so utterly fantastic she can’t believe she is so blessed. I think it would be so wonderful to be able to see ourselves the way our precious children see us.
Comment by Queen Beth — April 21, 2006 @ April 21, 2006 at 7:22 am
I love so many things about this. It’s good to have you back.
Comment by Karen — April 21, 2006 @ April 21, 2006 at 7:22 am
That was really sweet!
My daughter is like me in many ways, and also NOT like me. It’s so weird to watch that happening in front of you, especially the “like me” parts.
Comment by Occidental Girl — April 21, 2006 @ April 21, 2006 at 9:37 am
Sob. Beautiful.
Comment by Amy — April 21, 2006 @ April 21, 2006 at 10:20 am
I see that you found your words. Maybe God gave her to you that way so she could teach you how to be more open? That is why she is your daughter and why you are her mother.
) Beautiful post by the way.
Comment by Mary — April 21, 2006 @ April 21, 2006 at 10:41 am
What a beautiful, touching post! Seriously, brought tears to my eyes with that last line. You have a way with words. I. LOVE. THIS. BLOG!
Comment by Rachelle — April 21, 2006 @ April 21, 2006 at 11:21 am
Oh! That is so sweet. Love it! My children all have so many of my husband’s features (ohysical and otherwise)… so I guess I have often felt the same way as you. But occasionally, occasionally I will see that the’ve picked up one of my little habits, and it makes me smile.
Comment by Lei — April 21, 2006 @ April 21, 2006 at 12:10 pm
Man, I’ve been trying to read this since this morning…I finally got to read the whole thing just now and it was so worth it! I love how you describe Babs’ vibrancy. Awesome.
Comment by mama_tulip — April 21, 2006 @ April 21, 2006 at 12:36 pm
I read what you wrote about Babs and it reminded me of times years ago when I was raising you. Your description of Babs is the way I would describe you as a child. She is not as different from you as you think. In fact, watching Babs grow up might be a good way to learn about how you were at that age.
Comment by Mom — April 21, 2006 @ April 21, 2006 at 5:49 pm
Wow, did your words come back in a BIG way. Absolutely gorgeous and beautiful, touching and oh so relate-able to this mom of 3 daughters.
Thank you
Comment by Deb — April 21, 2006 @ April 21, 2006 at 8:45 pm
This was lovely.
I have a son who is exactly like me, and a son who is exactly like my husband. And a daughter who is a mix between us both, plus some other stuff tossed in I don’t know where it comes from.
Comment by Susan M — April 22, 2006 @ April 22, 2006 at 8:19 am
beautiful, beautiful.
And, as I was told, a face without freckles is like a night without stars.
Comment by petal — April 22, 2006 @ April 22, 2006 at 9:20 am
oh! could she be any sweeter! That was just exactly the perfect thing to say, wasn’t it!?
God absolutely CHOSE you to be her mom. DOn’t go doubting if it’s a ‘match.’ Clearly, it is. You’re the only one He picked for such a special job, and it wasn’t an accident. You’re it for reasons too many to name, and many you won’t know for years to come.
(my daughter and i are so different. God chose me to adopt her for reasons i am only beginning to understand.)
Comment by HolyMama! — April 22, 2006 @ April 22, 2006 at 9:10 pm
Oh so beautiful!
Remember, it ain’t over yet. My own mother would tell you that she saw only my father in me until a major turning point in my life in 2000. From then on, no one would ever question that I am my mother’s daughter. It was always in me - it just wasn’t the first traits that anyone saw. I would venture to guess that there are more layers to you too than anyone sees at first.
Comment by Mom101 — April 23, 2006 @ April 23, 2006 at 8:12 am
What a beautiful post. I think you and I are a lot a like (the image of you sitting on the step lost in thought while your daughter played in the sun is us to a T.) and while you worry about your daughter because she is different than you, I worry about mine because she is just like me.
She’s quiet, she’s an introvert, she’s got so much going on inside of her but we only see a ripple of it on the surface some days. I constantly have to remind myself of how I felt as a child and try to give her the space she needs but also to draw her out when it’s important.
This raising of children is such a thing, isn’t it?
Comment by Bethany — April 23, 2006 @ April 23, 2006 at 4:18 pm
It’s a strange thing with daughters, looking and them and wondering what is in them that is like us as moms. I don’t wonder so much about my sons. I want my daughter to be like me and unlike me at the same time, I want her to be herself, I love that she is so purely her, so exuberant and lovely. This was a great post, thanks for sharing.
Comment by Rae — April 23, 2006 @ April 23, 2006 at 6:12 pm
We should all do everything big. I know I dont and sometimes I regret it. Beautiful post.
Comment by Chris — April 24, 2006 @ April 24, 2006 at 9:50 am
I just started crying at my desk at work. Beautiful post.
Comment by Staci — April 24, 2006 @ April 24, 2006 at 10:36 am
What a beautiful post.
Comment by Caryn — April 25, 2006 @ April 25, 2006 at 6:24 pm