Adelaide

I have a child who needs to be heard.

She needs you to make eye contact while she's speaking and to nod your head and to respond in full sentences. If my eyes begin to wander away or my replies become mumbled, she will place her chubby little hands on my face and turn my head back toward her until she can look me in the eye and ever so gently whisper, "Mommy, I don't like it when you talk to me like that."

She is completely confident in herself and she needs you to be completely confident in her as well. She has an opinion, or at the very least a commentary, for every circumstance. She has a plan, a suggestion, and in her own mind, she believes she has complete autonomy and presidential level veto power. She is not particularly inclined to obedience. Why ever would she want to follow an order that is totally lamer than her own? She doesn't care if you're happy about it or mad at her as long as you never ignore her; as long as you see that she was right, in the end. (Just realized I might possibly be raising President Obama. Hold on a sec while I Google law school tuition ..... Well, she'll make a great hairdresser.)

There is no greater offense her siblings could bestow upon her than to simply cover their ears and pretend she isn't speaking. The repercussions are immediate. And loud. And not easily placated.

Have you ever tried to reach into a mirror to fix your reflection's hair or straighten her clothes, but you just keep running into yourself? Over and over and over, no matter how hard you try? If she would just stay still you could set her hat on right, but instead she insists on rising up to meet you. If you keep trying you'll just end up frustrated. You'll end up hurt. And your reflection will be no better off. That's what it's like for me to raise Adelaide. That's what it's like to be in charge of instructing someone so much like myself.

This morning she dumped out a basket of toys and used it to climb onto the kitchen counter. Once she was done pushing all the buttons on the coffee maker she opened the doughnut box and ate all the frosting and sprinkles off of her sister's doughnut. When I caught her red-handed she covered her ears and ran down the hall screaming, "You aren't saying NOTHING, because I can't hear you."

Touche, Addy. Touche.

I see myself when I look at her. In the color of her skin and the flip of her hair. I see myself when she is being impossibly loud, impossibly sensitive, and impossible to correct. I see the road before her like an emotional suicide mission. She will put her foot in her mouth, and overreact, and rebel against every voice of reason ... at least once or twice. She will be told that she's too loud, too prideful, and too selfish. And she'll have to learn that everyone is right. She'll have to learn to hold her tongue. She'll have to learn to listen. She'll have to learn that her words are no less valuable just because they aren't meant for every second of every hour of everyday for every person. 

I want to shake her. To warn her. To give her the last 20 years of my life so she can avoid the painful lessons, but we just aren't the type who learn the easy way. Trying to force her to understand would do about as much good as painting makeup on your reflection.

So I'll do my best to turn my hands back around and brush my own teeth and button my own jacket. I'll comb my own hair and straighten my skirt. Maybe then my little reflection will see and follow suit. Maybe if I can face my own demons it'll give her strength to fight her own. 

I'll celebrate her strengths. I'll affirm her value. I'll trust the Good Shepherd whose rod and staff have never failed me. Who never let me wander too far and whose discipline was never too harsh. I'll do my best to love her in the process. 

You do you, BB. Mommy will be right here.