I'm Here, Really...

Life gets stressful. And that stress manifests itself in many ways.

For me, my face breaks out like a teenager, my stomach gets upset, and I get really bad headaches. So, one tube of zit cream, a Costco sized bottle of Antacids, and some Aleve, and I'm almost better.

Raising children is the hardest thing I've done, and I've only truly just begun. I know I will be raising them for the rest of my life. I knew from the minute I realized they were growing in me that they were going to be stubborn. C'mon, they are their mother's children!

My daughter, who is 10, is driving me nuts. Seriously.

She is my first born, and she is my only girl. I try my hardest to do right by her. I want her to be tough and strong, like me, without having the life experiences I've had to harden her. I want her to be self-confident, independent, happy, sassy, classy, a little princess-y, and proud. Truly, what mother wouldn't want their daughter to be all those things? I've taught her how to change the oil on the truck, I've taught her how to make a chocolate souffle. She knows my secret ingredient in my pancakes, she knows that chapstick is a quick fix for many things, and that girls are lucky because we can get away with doing girly things, and do things that boys do, and still be a girl. And a girl that does "boy" things is still a girl, just called a tomboy. I show her the fun things we can do, like wearing high heels and makeup, and how to throw a good curve ball. I've shown her how to do the two-step, how to really move to the beat, and I've also shown her how to fix a broken sprinkler head.

I try to make sure that she is well-groomed, she has a "stylish" hair cut, her clothes are stylish, yet not overly trendy.

She used to be this sweet, generous, dangerously caring little girl. Until just recently. And then she became a "Mean Girl" that back-talks, says hurtful things, refuses to turn in classwork, and has been someone I have no idea who she is.

These last few weeks have been trying times. Tears have been shed, voices have gone hoarse, hearts have been broken. I think I am lost, I think I have found my way, and then she throws another curveball at me, and I'm lost in amazement at how she can change in a blink of an eye.

My little girl is no longer just a little girl. I know she is growing, changing, evolving. I know what this all means, THE CURSE is coming! Hormones are playing with her little body, she is once again testing me the way she did when she was 2, pushing me to see what my limits are, trying to rediscover her limits in a world where she believes she is already grown. Only this time, she is not about two feet tall, with two long pig tails and these huge pouty lips and lashes that I swear must be fake if I didn't know better. This time she does not curl up in my lap with her little Ojo Bear, this time she shoots daggers from her eyes and I can almost see curse words forming at her lips.

My precious little girl, my princess, my forever child, I LOVE YOU. And that is the reason why you are writing essays this weekend, why I make you read stories about children who have nothing. I LOVE YOU. And that is the reason why, when all my senses scream to shake you and call for an exorcism, I pull you into me, and I hug you. That is why I bend my head and whisper the Serenity Prayer into your hair. I hug you tightly. And when I finally feel that I can safely let go, I kiss your head, and I tell you again, I LOVE YOU. YOU are MY life. And I will sacrifice EVERYTHING for YOU.

One day, one day not too far from today, we will once again be best friends. And you will be glad that I held on to you. And you will know that I TRULY LOVE YOU. And you will, I hope, have a daughter, that you can hold on to.

I LOVE YOU.