My mom and I are different in a few ways. Yes, literally three I can count them. But they aren’t nearly as intersesting as the fact that we’re the same gdamn person one generation removed. Most days lately I look in the mirror and my mother looks back. I’ve thought about the fact that I was born when she was 25 and how I now am the same age as my first memories of her.
I wonder if she noticed with every passing year that her face got less and less symmetrical. I wonder how different that are lives are and were. Or if they weren’t different at all. How do I feel about that? How does she feel about that?
My own baby is nearly 7 years old. Every day she becomes a little more resolved in who she is as a person. And every day I tease apart her actions and put them into categories from- me, her dad, my mom, carol. Those four categories is about all it takes. An alarming amount of instances fall under the ME header.
Two days ago I got home and Ev was absolutely breaking down about everything. The way the watermelon was cut, that the dog barked, that she was told to stop standing in the funiture. J and I looked at each other multiple times. Da fuck? I don’t know why she’s being like this.
6 is a year that has brought a lot more sanity. We now reason. Repercussions are real, iminantant and often (though not always) deturing.
But on Thursday for what ever reason she just needed to cry. And I paused. Because I know that face, that exhaustion, that defeat. It’s my own. I contemplated how hard it is to be a woman. And then how hard that it is to be a child. Come here baby. You just need to be held. To be vulnerable and caught for just a few moments. Then you’ll put your emotional mess in your pocket book and carry on. That’s all we ever need.
That’s a parenting corner to turn. In any given situation I just think what would I need in that situation and it works.
For instance if I get mad and yell it is quickly followed by an apology. She forgives but will never go first. If she eats it on the playground, we just need to go over every detail of how and why it happened to make the hurt disipate. When her tales get a little too tall I cut her down to size but commend her ability to tell a good story. We do love that about ourselves.
We are the most complicated yet simplistic though always beautiful creatures on this earth. We are women and girl. Mother and daughter. Linear and circle. We. One.