My baby is getting older. But she’s just not a baby anymore.
Every night, I put her to bed and we say prayers and I get sad, every night. I look at her and don’t see the baby face I used to. I don’t see the little girl in the little pajamas under the flowery little bedspread. She’s under her lovely quilt in her tee or something else that doesn’t have a picture of Frozen. Sometimes, I get lucky and she’s wearing her princess night gown. Only because she’s hot.
She’s 9 going on 15. That’s probably the worst part. We butt heads. All the time.
There is yelling. Back and forth. We’re both yelling. She has feelings. All of the feelings and sometimes she just can’t control herself and I just have to remind myself (usually after the blowups on both sides) that it’s probably hormones. *Tears and Yikes*
But then my sweet girl comes back and I breathe a sigh of relief.
Then there’s the arguments she makes when she’s exasperated and making her case for why we’re accusing her of something she didn’t do (she usually did it).
Then during our most recent drama, preparations for Valentines Day cards. She desparately wanted to finish her Valentine bookmarks without allowing me time to get her a hole punch to add ribbon to the top. That would mean an extra day before she got to finish them. She wanted them done on Sunday. She wanted to tape the candy on and pack them up for Friday’s party. Then it hit me. I give up the fight because I understand.
I’m Type A, I’m a bit OCD, and I like to control a conversation. I interrupt, I have to say what I’m thinking as soon as I’m thinking it (think unfiltered), and that gets me into trouble sometimes, aside from the fact that it’s rude. I know that. Once I put my mind to something, I have to make it happen. It has to happen then, there, now, yesterday. I can’t wait and I’ll do anything to make it happen.
As she interrupted me during each and every word (I know it’s not ok and we told her it wasn’t), I called her out and told her how much she was like me when I was younger. J even called ME out and told me I still do it today and he has to tell me to stop it.
Ava started her project and she could not wait to finish. Her mind was set and she had to finish, there would be no waiting for a tiny detail that, to her, did not even matter. They looked awesome and that was good enough for her.
This is just the beginning. I’ll have to remind myself as we’re in the thick of things, that she is me.
She. Is. Me.
I look back on me when I was a kid. I loved to read, write, and to this day, I love notebooks, stationery and pens. I love for things to look perfect beautiful and I love colors. I wanted in on the grown ups’ conversations and wanted to be independent. Times were different and I was mature enough to be in charge and watch out for everyone–even cooking for the family.
She has so many of my personality characteristics. She knows everyone and smiles and stops to talk to them all. She has a big heart and wants to care for everyone. She’s the opposite of Allie, who’s rambunctious and crazy–Allie, who is actually my mini-me (in looks only).
Ava is just trying to speak her mind and she is wise beyond her years. She’s smarter than most and has a thirst for knowledge. She wants to be independent and as we fight her for being “immature,” but really she’s trying to find her voice to advocate for herself, even if it comes off in the wrong way.
Now we just need to find that happy medium for all of us.
And I just need to remember to stop and breathe before I react–or at least quickly respond after acting. Because she is a tiny version of what I was and I need to be remember what that time was like, and be patient with her. All she wants is to be treated like the amazing little wonder lady she is.