I smiled with teeth, grinned broadly but closed-lipped, curved the corners of my mouth into subtle upward curves, threw cheeseball smiles...you named it and I tried it on for size. When all was said and done, I felt a little...worried? nervous? that none of them felt good on me.
Dorky, I know.
But in retrospect, I realize that as I left Little-Kidhood and entered Bigger-But-Still-Little-In-Some-Ways Limbo Land, I was searching for my identity. Not my parents' identities, not who people had always described me as or expected me to be, but ME. The me that had been a seed and was just starting to sprout and take shape. Far from 'teen' and not yet 'pre-teen,' I was still making--and noticing--changes that were unfamiliar and unsettling.
Of course, Riah laughed at me. I would expect nothing less. Not "you're so stupid" laughing, but "I bet you were so cute" and "that's pretty amusing" laughing.
As I told him about it, I reflected that Abby's about the same age. And in the same boat. It's simultaneously fun and painful to watch.
It's great to see her develop her skills and interests. She likes reading and loves science. Butterflies, rocks, the solar system...whatever they're doing in class, she's completely into it at home. She's not yet aware that boys exist for any other purpose than to be a friend or a tormentor, and this previously boy-crazy mother is immensely grateful.
(This is one of my favorite pics of her. She's 2.)
But she's taken to belching. And laughing about it, even when I affix her with my most serious look. You know the look. The one that's supposed to cause your insides to shrink? Yeah, she giggles. Dangit.
She's pretty self-conscious, and I hate it. She comes by it naturally, but still it kills me to look back on my own life and see so many opportunities I missed just because I was too scared to try, then look at my own daughter and see her make the same stupid decisions! For Pete's sake, child, if you want it, GET IT! And don't think about what other people think because THEY DON'T CARE!!! They're too busy thinking that you care about what they do! But no. She shies.
inhale, exhale
Sometimes she's just about the most irresponsible person around, but other times she'll change Cora's clothes so that her dress doesn't get dirty, buckle her into her high chair, put on the bib, click the tray into place and slice a banana because the soup's not cool yet. (I make sure that I praise those moments. A lot.)
Her sense of style is developing, as well. So is her need to shop. I can't tell you how many times we've gone somewhere and she's begging for shoes to go with the dress. Or a necklace. Or a headband that's exactly the same color. One day, when we are made of money, I look forward to teaching her how to make it stretch and find just the right accessory. Her style certainly isn't honed. Today she wore to church a beautiful, silky, fuschia and chocolate dress with pink ballet flats. Looked great! Until she added frumpy, brown cotton leggings with stripes & multicolored flowers. Ah well. We're getting there.
And at bedtime when she was supposed to be getting into jammies, I couldn't get her out of my heels! It would seem that my brown boots are her favorite, as she tried to wear them around the house.
I've got an up-and-coming shoe diva on my hands, I think.
As nervous and uncertain as she is, I think that I'm meeting her on each emotion. The next handful of years are absolutely crucial to her end result. When she's an adult, will she exude confidence and poise or be the girl that always dates controlling, abusive creeps? Will she want to emulate her parents' example or write a book? I have such an influence that in so many ways I could unintentionally go very, very wrong. One of the hazards of being the eldest is that your life is a series of experiments. She's a guinea pig.
I think my solution is Girl Time. At the current time, she likes me. If possible, she'd run every errand with me and while we were out, we'd stop for ice cream or call a friend and go get hot chocolate. If I could stop time and do nothing but crafts, puzzles and outings with her, she'd be thrilled. We'd be fat, but we'd have great memories. Last night I was out and she went to return a couple of movies with the estrogen half of the husband/wife duo that watched the kids. She commented that she really liked Girl Time because sometimes she "...just needed to get away from the crazy boys."
And I fully intend to do what I can to make sure that we always have good Girl Time. That way, I can be there as she figures out which smile fits her.
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