Warrior

I posted the following on Facebook earlier this week: "In Target alone and not even about to cry bc I already used my tears this morning trying to get those damn drops in Finley's eyes. As we struggled and she kept screaming "No touch me, Mommy. Stop, Mommy. No drops, Mommy." I cried like an idiot bc sometimes motherhood is so effing hard and if she'd just stop fighting and lay still...but then I remembered that the name Finley means 'fair haired warrior' at least that's what the internet tells me and I thought 'Huh. For all the worrying I do about her being too kind and gentle or too sociopathic, she is a warrior and she's showing me that right now.' Then I dropped the little terrorist, I mean warrior, off at school where she practically skipped in and thought 'There goes my little fair haired warrior.' 

Everyday I pray for peace and contentment. Sometimes I get an extra surprise. Today it was perspective."

Fifi had pink eye so that's why we're struggling with eye drops. I've gotten perspective as an extra little gift from God quite often lately. That morning after I dropped her off at school and went to do the grocery shopping I had no tears left. 

Part of my gift was an extension of what I'd already received originally. The realization that my daughter is all of the endearing parts of me without all my baggage. She's kind and sensitive, she uses swear words with perfect intonation in exactly the right context. She doesn't see age, race, religion or class. She has a fighter's heart. Some of these are my inherent qualities. Some of them are things I have worked to become. Some of them I'm not that good at.

 My heart is so constantly split wide open that I can be simultaneously furious enough to rip the world a new one and cry lots of tears. The inability to hold back tears when you're livid is pretty inconvenient. It makes it difficult for people to hear the words when you're doing the ugly cry.

My daughter, on the other hand, posesses all of those qualities without any concious effort and she doesn't cry a lot. Very self assured and tough, that one. Whether its because I model them for her or because I have given birth to the most perfect female child, we'll never know. All I could think that morning was 'Dear God, I'll never understand how you thought I was good enough to guide her. How I will ever live up to the kind of mother she deserves? How will I nurture these traits I admire so much in her? How will I keep the world from stealing them from her with all its tragedy and injustice? Why did you choose me?'

He didn't answer directly. But I know He heard me like always because I got a message that morning that told me so. A friend said 'I get it. Motherhood is hard. I cried last night because my daughter was upset with me over brushing her teeth. I was so upset thinking about all the children who endure terrible things at the hands of parents who aren't loving or well meaning.' She told me I was doing it right. That I'm doing a great job. And there it was: affirmation. Right on time, as usual. Thank you, God. You have impeccable timing. But you already knew that, huh?