Dearest Babybel,
Quite some time has passed since my last letter to you. It was probably written before you could even read. So, now it feels a little funny knowing that I can write this letter and you could read it all in the course of one day.
I don’t think you mind my delinquency. Well, maybe you mind. Maybe you’ll talk in therapy one day about just how taken for granted you were as a child. But, you’re also very forgiving.
As usual, this letter is less about you than it is about me. And for that you’ll probably forgive me too.
I’m not sure how big Ten seems to you. I’m trying to convince myself in between sobs that you’re merely one day older today than you were yesterday.
You’re not a child who has literal or figurative growing pains. Each day just leads to the next for you and you take things as they come. You are our most well-adjusted child.
We’ve been going to therapy/parental coaching for another Child Who Shall Not Be Named. Our therapist talks about the journey to functional adulthood that we are trying to prepare our children for--self-actualization I guess? I don’t know. I could probably google it and read some dead white guy’s theory about it.
Anyway, we start with self-awareness (and that’s where we get our self-esteem) and by grade school, we should have pretty good self-regulation skills (so says the therapist). If you are a person who feels emotions more intensely, self-regulation is going to require more effort to master. We know who that applies to… (I am for sure raising my hand, btw. And probably Daddy should too inasmuch as men are not conditioned to express the spectrum of human emotions; so what seems like self-regulation is often emotional suppression, resulting in outbursts of emotion in their “acceptable” forms: violence, anger, yelling in sportsy venues at sportsing games where sporters are not sporting properly and not scoring the sports points or equivalent places where “bad behavior” is tolerated.)
Note: If you are a man and able to read and accept this, you know that it probably does not apply to you. And if you are a man and thinking “but not all men!” or “this malarky doesn’t apply to me!” then it is probably your toxic masculinity rearing its ugly head.
I diverged! I snuck in a mini-lecture on: [insert oppressive socio-cultural framework here]! “So unexpected from you, Mommy!” they said yet again, rolling their eyes in the backseat of the car. #buckledinaudience
That is all to say that you know yourself pretty well, you carry that esteem and are able to navigate life’s situations on your own. You don’t have to. You shouldn’t always have to, but you do.
Recently, you weren’t invited to a playdate with your three closest friends. These friends also go to after school care and play together there without you. (I should add that while you expressed that it makes you feel a little left out, they usually pause their pretend play storyline and pickup another one during recess that does include you.) So, in school on this particular day a child said: “see you at the playdate, oh wait no, you won’t be there.” And I don’t believe it was malicious. And likely neither was your omission from the playdate. But, did I want to make some phone calls to the parents involved? I sure did. Would I ever make them? No. Because: phones. And also because I reminded myself that these are things you need to walk through on your own. Rather, Daddy and Auntie Katherine reminded me while I fumed via text. Because I also lack healthy self-regulation.
There is so much that you do on your own. Partly because I don’t have the time (like I used to) to micromanage your library books and your hygiene, among other things. You feed yourself; you do your best to take care of your hair and your eczema. You do your homework or, better yet, you sometimes forget and I never even notice; it doesn’t make your world crumble (like it would have mine). You juggle multiple assignments and piano and sports. You try and take on new things. You are responsible and dependable. Imaginative and creative. You like wolves and wearing baggy t-shirts and that may mean nothing to you now, but it means everything to me. This will be my one plea in this entire letter to #stayababy and #wearwolfshirtsforever (even though you don’t own one, haha)--otherwise, the rest of this letter is pretending to be very accepting of your aging.
I know that if I died today, you’d be fine without me. And I’d like to take All The Credit for raising you with my amazing and instinctive parenting skills, but to a certain degree you were simply born this way and my parenting happened to do no harm. While we joke about you raising yourself, t’s a little bit true. Ever since you were twenty-months old our attention has been split between you and the other life forms in our home.
While your siblings frustrate you and you get the short stick in many of our dysfunctional family dynamics--where the “needs” of others seem more pressing or just the path of least resistance on an overwhelming day--you are steadfast. You give Stebbie so much care and attention even as he turns away from you to tell Dan Dan he loves her; as runs to her when he bonks his head or Mommy says “no” to him; as you chase him around the house trying to dress him; as you excitedly declare “Potty Time!” when the Alexa alarm sounds every half hour, rushing Stebbie to help him sit on the potty and get a “bean bean” for his efforts which you applaud heartily.
You always want to do what is in everyone’s best interest. I know that is frustrating because sometimes (when cleaning your room so you can have screen time, for example) it seems everyone (Danielle, for example...I mean...specifically, lets stop sugar-coating it) is rebelling against what is in their own best interest (also playing Roblox once Mommy can see the bedroom floor again, for example).
I’m not sure yet what to say about that. I love that you are easy-going, flexible and positive. But, every aspect of a person’s natural temperament is in fact neutral in a void. In reality, they have their advantages and their pitfalls. So even things that we see as “good” could come out bad in the wash--if they’re not serving you well. I don’t want you always bending your will to those of others. I don’t want you to stifle your needs or desires because it’s the easier thing to do. I don’t want you thinking you can just slough off the negative and will your happiness into existence. That would make you a Disney Princess.
Certainly, your siblings get the lion’s share of my parental energy. But, I want to reassure you: it’s not just for them, we’re trying to make this a better family for you too.
I try everyday to be a better person for each of you. I don’t do everything right. I’m inconsistent. I’m forgetful. I have poor time management skills. I don’t listen as well as I should. I make promises or agreements that don’t come to fruition (see: inconsistent, forgetful, poor time management, bad listener). I often disappoint you.
And you, above all of my children, seem to love me no matter what. Stebbie’s disappointment devolves into a terrible two tantrum. Danjo’s disappointment lashes out, taking down everyone in her path.
But, where does your disappointment go? Does it float into oblivion? Does it fester in a hidden wound?
Where do you store your hopes? Do you clutch them tightly for fear of losing them? Or do you open your mouth and speak them into existence?
What are your joys? What are your pains?
And, by the way, what do you want for dinner tonight?
I feel like I know you better than anyone else--you grew in me; you grew WITH me for God’s sake--I had you when I was 24; you have always been my little cogent tagalong, discussing plants and physics and, even, politics.
For so long, I have had all the answers. Mommy, why is the sky blue? Mommy, what’s on the other side of the earth? Mommy, what’s a condom? (You, in fact, asked me this recently upon hearing the word on TV. At your grandparents house no less! LOL!) And you’ve always listened to my belabored answers.
But here’s an eternal truth: you know you better than anyone else. And you will only continue to know yourself better and better.
You have been becoming your own person for a long time now. For 3,652 days to be precise. Because it is in you to be precise; one of the many more positive (ha!) attributes you inherited from me.
I’ve written many sentences to all three of you over the years, talking about the magic and wonder of watching you grow into the person you will become. That sounds so flowery. Also, very observational. Maybe it shouldn’t have taken you turning ten for me to stop and to reflect and to see it more clearly, but I see it so vividly now.
That person I’ve been waiting for you to become? The person apart from me? You are that person. You already have been for some time.
It’s my turn to start asking you questions. Time to listen to your belabored answers. Time to watch your wheels spin and your face light up, as you speak your truth. Time to listen to all that you do not say, to your essence, to your spirit. Time to see and love and hold you where you are.
I know you’ll be fine. I know you have a whole big, wide future. A future past ten. A future beyond me. A future without me.
All I have is now.
And you.
And that sounds good to me.
I love you no matter what,
Mommy
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