My day is full of challenges. In part because I have children, and also in part, because I have a very challenging 3 year old. She challenges herself, she challenges me, and she challenges anyone who comes in contact with her. Don't get me wrong, I'd love this personality trait, if that were the reason. But it's not. Her challenges come with the genetic makeup of her mind, body, and soul. She is fearless, she is strong minded, and she is persistant. This is who she is. With or without the 'A" word. The "A" word just supersizes it. And at some point everyday it will break me down, alittle. It's stressful, as a mother, to not know what your child is trying to say to you. Her lack of communication skills are even more stressful for her. Imagine being in a world where the people around you, including your own mother, don't know what you're trying to tell them? To watch her behaviour and not know her would certainly, to anyone around, look like that of a bratty 3 year old. Of course, what makes this worse, is that she doesn't even look like a 3 year old. She looks like the 5 year old who ate the 3 year old on the playground. Even close family, for that matter, look at her and think she's just throwing a tantrum. But her mind is woven into this complex bundle of wires that is programmed different from mine, yours, and ours.
Everyday, while trying to get her ready for school, something will trigger her. This makes it impossible to carry on in the process of getting dressed, getting packed, and jetting off to school. So, of course, today was no different. We were on the right track. She got herself dressed, and even went, as far, as to put her snowpants on. Then progress stopped. When it came time to get her boots on she went crazy-for lack of a better word. Here I am for 20 minutes trying to do all I can to get this child to put the other boot on. I wrestled the boot on, and the boot went flying off. Finally it got to the point where my eyes filled up with tears. So I walked away. I let the supermom personna come in to play. How dare us let our children see us cry. It's forbidden, as a parent, to let them see us upset. To bring the uneasiness of weakness into a situation that is already unable to be controlled. We are not everyday mothers. We are in the elite status of supermoms. But today that personna of supermom was ripped away from me. Unintentionally, of course. I walked away into the other room with my fist balled up into my mouth, so that I could scream and break down without my child knowing this. The protection of our children can sometimes be the one thing that unprotects them. After a while of the pity party, the crying, and the questions of "Why? Why everyday?" "Why do we have to go through this everyday?", I decided to compose myself, slip back into my superhuman costume, and forge on. I went back into the room and there was my child still tugging at her boot, until finally I threw my hands up, and gave in. The boot was taken off. I thought Molly would go running and make this into a game of defiance. But I was wrong. Completely. When the boot came off my child grabbed it, put it in my hand, and coaxed it so I could see what was troubling her. The inner sole had shifted causing a huge rift in the bottom. So the problem was fixed. And the child calmed down, and went and sat on my lap, and rested her tiny little head on my shoulder. And as I hid myself behind a curtain of her hair I started to cry. And as I sat there crying, while she was sniffling, and releasing the last few tears she had to offer, she slipped her soft, warm little hand into mine. And in the warmth of this innocent little hand I realized something. She is not like me. She is not afraid to show me that she is sad, or angry, or troubled. Her trust lies completely in me. While I am waving the cape on my back to show that my superhuman abilites can not be faultered, this little babe came to me unarmed with no mask, and no shield. And in that instant I became mom. Not supermom, not the perfect mom, just mom. That guard I put up to shield my child was easily destroyed by the simple warmth of that soothing little hand in mine.
