Soon, very soon…my daughter will be in double digits. With the start of the holiday season rushing in on the coat tails of Thanksgiving, it will be here in no time at all. And while I look forward to celebrating her 10 year birthday, I do so with the familiar bitter-sweetness that has become a hallmark emotion of being her mother.
Age 9 has been an eventful one. It has been a year full of
firsts. This year marked the first time she’s joined a team sport, playing for
our town soccer league both outside and indoor. This is the first year we have all come to learn the
delicate balance that comes with managing multiple after school commitments. This
will always be the year she got her first horse. It was a beautiful moment, witnessing her stunned
joy. It was a surprise unlikely to be matched
by much else for many years. Age 9 also saw
her first pimple, and an abundant show of gratitude once I managed to camouflage
it with some of my “magic” cover-up.
This year she began wearing those tiny bralets under her
clinging uniforms…a decision that was much more about laying the groundwork,
rather than because she really needed them just yet. It was also the time of “the
talks” about hygiene and the importance of washing her face….talks made all the
more imperative after that first major pimple appearance the same week as
school pictures. We talked also about a girl’s first period, something
hopefully that is a year or two off.
She is still so much a child, but there are some signs and things can
change so rapidly and I want her to be more prepared than I was.
She is still shy, though she is beginning to open up to
adults she knows. I see her testing the waters by ordering her own food and
having more animated conversations with her soccer coaches on the sidelines. I
think she is more outgoing when I am not around, a dynamic I don’t fully
understand. All the same, I try to back
off more and give her some room to engage others outside the realm of her mother’s
shadow. She is still so easily embarrassed
and I am always afraid to upset the balance of her world in some accidental
way. I am encouraged by her building confidence on horseback but dismayed with
how much she still fears getting hurt or failing at something. I find myself frustrated, watching her on the
field, dogging the ball or falling back when I know she has the speed and
skills to attack. I often ask myself, “How
do I encourage her to be more aggressive?” Then, I find myself asking, “ but do I really want her to be more
aggressive?”
My daughter is, at her core, sweet and reserved. She mostly
plays her emotions close to her chest. At 9, she has developed this silly, funny
sense of humor that she really only reveals to a handful of family members and
her best friend. Her timing is spot on though,
and I think I have laughed out loud at her antics this past year more than any
before. I hope double digits brings her
more confidence and more opportunities to share this wonderful, vibrant part of
herself with others.
I am convinced 9 year-olds have compromised hearing. I need to repeat things four or five times before she “hears” what I am telling her yet, she her ability to eavesdrop on my conversations is startling. It has spawned more than a few arguments and shouting matches that have sent the dogs dodging for cover. My husband has frequently had to step in, to remind at least one of us, that they are an adult. My frustrations with my daughter however, pale in comparison to my pride and admiration for her.
I have seen her push herself well outside her comfort zone
to achieve something she wanted. I have seen her rally after an injury,
stifling tears and tabling the drama to run back out onto the field or climb
back up into the saddle. She has been
brave when she hasn’t really wanted to be. She has turned toward a challenge,
even as I see how much she wants to run back to me.
My daughter is a nice girl. She is a good friend. She is
loyal and loving. At 9, she prefers the company of girlfriends but seems to also
enjoy the quiet and polite boys in her class.
She seems blissfully unaware that, in the space of a few years, the boys
may start paying her a bit more attention. Even as my daughter stands, fussing with stray
ponytail hairs in the mirror and mugging playfully with her reflection, she is
completely unaware of how beautifully unique and lovely her features are. I have caught myself tearing up at how
beautiful she looks in some outfit she has casually put together, not realizing
how the color she’s chosen sets off those amazing sea green eyes or how the cut
and fit show the graceful lines of her slim silhouette. She is so physically different from me, that
it takes my breath away. The truth is, she
just takes my breath away…in the moments of her wild at play, in the midst of
her darkest mood, in the sweet silences of her sleeping…in all her movements
and motions.
My daughter at 9, might be my physical opposite but there
are ribbons of my own nature woven into her being. She seems to share my far ranging musical
tastes, adopting my playlists as her own on our car rides and during our time
spent cleaning or tending to Roo. She loves having people over, playing games
and spending time with family. She has
greedily binge-watched some of my favorite shows with me, as interested in
Stranger Things or The Umbrella Academy as she might have been with some of her
more mainstream choices.
Sometimes I’d like to say my daughter is a mini version of
me, a “mini me”, but in truth she is very much uniquely herself. She is a
wonderfully blended mix of her Dad’s quiet nature and summer-kissed caramel
complexion and my fiery temper and penchant for debate. My daughter is also prone
to goofy song and dance numbers, funny photobombs and bursts of manic storytelling.
She is obstinate and argumentative, seeming to relish flexing her mental
muscles with me most of all. She is unabashedly affectionate. Most nights she clamors up between us in bed,
insisting she wants to still fall asleep with us even though she’s almost ten. We
wake up to her most mornings with one of her legs cast across our bodies or her
arms around us, sleeping contently, as close to us as she can get. She will
still randomly take my hand when we are walking, or drape her arm around my
waist while we wait in line. She does these things almost unconsciously, undeterred
by the strangers and observers around us.
She calls me Mother Bird when with her friends and Mamma
when it is just the two of us. She will thank me, sincerely and unsolicited
when I do something for her or buy her something she has asked. She will just as
readily storm off with an exaggerated stomping of her booted feet when I scold
or embarrass her.
Everything in her current wardrobe is black, blue or gray
and all of it is devoid of glitter, ruffles or depictions of small woodland
creatures. Even the dresses she selects
for herself, when forced outside her typical leggings and hoodies, are unadorned
and easily paired with cowboy boots and denim jackets by design. She is
developing a style all her own and it’s one that I secretly love on her.
There are a few months remaining until her birthday candles
number 10. I have enjoyed this 9 year
old version of her, even though I have spent most of this year feeling like she
was once again moving too quickly for me to keep up. Her steps have been different than those she
took as a toddler when her racing, stumbling feet kept her just ahead of my
reaching arms, carried forward by momentum and sheer will. Her steps away from me this past year have had
the measured, deliberate cadence of a young girl discovering the best parts of
herself to explore and expand her world. I am immensely grateful that, no
matter how far ahead I feel she is getting, at 9 she still always takes the
time to look back and assure I am still there….if and whenever she needs me.
