Like Mother Like Daughter
I lie and stare at you as you're sleeping, so peacefully in your bassinet, one arm having found its way out from the swaddling, its little hand half open. I close my eyes and I feel as though I am lying in there too, as though we are one in the same. I feel as though that little hand, with each of its little fingers, is my hand. It feels as if I have the ability to move that little hand as if it were my own. There's no other bond in the world like this, that is, the bond of a mother and child.
From the moment she was born people were already telling me what a miniature Sarah little Madeline was. In comparing the pictures side by side, there was no denying. As time went on, Madeline shaped into her own little person, complete with her own distinct features, characteristics and personality traits. But I could still see the glaring similarities.
People always talk about a child and parent being too much alike and as a result not being able to get along. I don't know if that's necessarily true, but I do know it puts a different perspective on how you parent. I saw so much of myself in Madeline it was almost painful at times. Yes, it was frustrating when she back talked me because I knew it was I who of course had taught her to back talk. And yes, it drove me crazy when she refused to get up and get ready for school the first time I asked. Those were things I kind of wish I'd not passed on to her, but didn't fret too much over.
Then there were things like having to fight the natural tendency to make a big to-do over how "smart" she was, realizing I was going to make her self-worth too dependent on her IQ. Projecting my own character defaults, with a little mix of modern parenting techniques I'd read somewhere, I feared she would become complacent with things being easy, and when they didn't come easy she would not know what to do and give up. These were the things I wanted to do to improve on her character, and they were very important to me.
But more important than all of that, I feared for my baby girl's fragile heart and overly powered emotions. As any other mother, it broke my heart to see her in any amount of pain, especially if I knew what that pain felt like. I'd like to say I now feel comfort in knowing she's out of pain, but in this moment at least, I do not. It still hurts me enormously to think back on any of the nights when she just felt sad or lonely and couldn't really say why. In the past year especially she'd talk about this feeling of not feeling like she was home. At the time I couldn't really wrap my mind around what she meant. I wanted so badly to help her, but I didn't know how. When I think about it now I know exactly what she was talking about. I remember that feeling. I know that feeling. And now I just want to scoop her into my arms so badly and hold on forever, so neither one of us has to feel that feeling ever again. But I can't.
