Saturday, April 24, 2010
my big little girl
I've been practicing lately seeing her as the small person she is. Part of the reason it's hard, I think, is that she acts so independent; she doesn't like to cuddle, she doesn't want my comfort when she hurts herself--she's been known to actually push me away when I try to hug her after she's banged her head. And my comparison is Clark, who lets me hold and rock him, who takes my face between his little hands and presses our noses together, who says "Mommy. Come. Wiss. Me." about nearly everything. At this very minute Frances is in the living room with her brother and the boy across the street and I just heard her say, "Okay. Here's what we're going to do,"with more than a little conviction. She's a bit bossy and quite certain about most things.
Also: sometimes I wonder, though she's not even four, about the hormonal balance in her little body. Many many of my friends agree that girls are harder, and it's seriously like she's thirteen. It's hard. Hard to be sympathetic, hard to remember that she doesn't know much about the world, that it must often be frightening to her. I'm trying to remember. She needs my help, not my frustration.