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To My Daughter

With Love, Mama

By Mortician BarbiePublished 2 years ago 7 min read
2
Original Photographer Unknown

As parents, we love all of our kids the same amount. But we don’t love all of our kids the same. They’re each individuals and have different needs- which brings a new light to parenting, with each addition to our family. They have unique personalities, which brings out new sides of us, and teaches us new ways to love.

My oldest is my pride and joy. She is my reflection of me, but the version of myself that I wish I could have been.

My middle daughter is my person. She’s the one I know 100% will still come back to visit, just to hang out, as an adult.

My son is my baby boy. A mama’s boy in every sense of the word.

They’re all amazing people, and sometimes I wonder how I was lucky enough to end up with them as my family.

I still remember the day I found out I was pregnant with my first daughter. I was wearing a pair of jeans, a Beatles t-shirt, ADIDAS, and my boyfriend was picking me up in his red car. We told our parents that we were going out to breakfast, but in reality, we were going to the local planned parenthood for a pregnancy test.

Back then, they did them for free. Especially for kids my age.

The first one appeared to be negative- at first. The woman talked to us about safer sex practices, and brought out condoms for us to take home, and to use in the future. That is when I leaned over and saw that the second line had appeared on the test. 2 pink lines. They administered a second test- an older version, shaped like a barrel, and with round blue dot in the middle- it confirmed:

Pregnant.

And before she was 2, I was a single mom.

Our first apartment was 325 sq ft, 1 bedroom apartment, but it was ours.

We called ourselves “The Girls Team”.

The Girls Team started one day when she was giving me a hard time, and I was trying to explain to her why I needed her to not. I simply said, “We need to work together. We’re on the same team. We are the girls team.”

She loved it and it stayed that way for years. We even made t-shirts.

My daughter doesn’t remember that our apartment was 325 sq ft. She doesn't remember that it was small, that we didn't have much- not even a couch, or that we shared a room out of necessity. When she talks about that stage in our lives, she doesn’t remember the struggles I went through, to get us back on our feet, the financial problems, or any of the parts that were rough. She didn't know that I often cried myself to sleep at night, because I was young, I was frustrated, and I often didn't know what to do. I felt like I didn't know what I was doing. I was just doing it.

She always says, “Those were the days.”

And she is right. They were.

I brought her swimming almost every day at the community pool. We walked to the park. We watched Little Bear every night before bed. Her potty chair was a literal throne, because she was my princess- complete with pink toilet paper. I don’t think they even make colored toilet paper anymore.

But hers was always pink.

Sometimes before bed, she got on her stage (her bed) and did a performance of Kelly Clarkson’s “Breakaway”, before settling in. Sometimes, she did 5 or 6 performances of "Breakaway". She didn't settle into her bed, she settled into mine. It was a twin sized bed and very crowded with the two of us. However, once she was settled in, if she couldn’t sleep, I would often hear songs from Dora:

"Popping bubbles…..

POP-POP-POP!"

I didn’t know at the time, but these would become the moments that I would cherish the most, when she was grown up, moved out, and living life on her own terms.

When you’re going through the process, you feel like it will never end. When the end gets here, you wonder where the time went?

One day she was performing “Breakaway”; the next my princess was Prom Queen. Then she was gone.

The only constant in my entire life was gone.

She had been with me and in my life, for more years than not. For more than half of my life, my identity was “D's Mama” and I lost a huge part of that identity, and myself, when she left.

We want our children to grow up, become the best versions of themselves, and to watch them flourish in all the ways we’ve ever dreamed of. To do everything we've known them to be capable of.

We just don’t expect it to happen so quickly.

She has made me proud every step of the way and at every turn. I have immensely enjoyed watching her grow and become the woman she is today. She is an unstoppable force of greatness, who will rise to the top of where ever she lands.

I want to be her when I grow up.

She is, and always will be, my pride and joy.

But the emptiness felt cannot be denied. She was my lifeline. She brightened up my days in ways nobody else ever did. She was the only constant and consistency I have ever had in my life: since the day I was born, to the day she was born, and to this day.

When some people have a long day, or a rough day- they say they want their mom. I want my daughter. But it would be unfair of me to ask her for that. I know and understand this- it is a part of allowing our children to become strong and independent people- who will succeed on their own and achieve their goals. It is part of teaching them healthy boundaries and healthy relationships.

It doesn't change the fact that these days are a little harder, when I come home, and I see an empty bed.

I grew up with a narcissist mother, where emotional abuse, and other forms of abuse, ran rampant.

It made me afraid to become a mother myself. I did a lot of things wrong, but I think I also did a lot of things right. Learning where proper boundaries are was something I had to teach myself, as a parent. Allowing my children their space, and opportunities to grow as individuals, is something I also had to learn on my own. I was never given that opportunity, nor was I taught that growing up. My mother tried to control my life in every way that she could- until I completely cut her out of my life - just after I turned 30.

I was recently in a room, with a group of individuals, both men and women, who were all approximately 10-20 years younger than myself. We were working, when the song “Good Old Days” by Macklemore and Kesha came on. They all joked to me:

“Does this make you long for your youth, Bo?”

Being by far the oldest in the room- I laughed.

I told them that some of them didn’t realize they were in the good old days right now. Raising your family will be the best days of your life. Hands down- no contest- no comparison. (This is not to say anything bad about those who choose not to have children- your family is no less of a family if you don't have them.)

One interrupted me to remind me that she was stressed out all of the time, and exhausted. Her early 20s were much easier, more fun, and she enjoyed the lack of responsibility that came along with them.

I assured her that is not what she would remember, when her heart ached for one more moment of their youth.

She would remember the random hugs, the cuddles, waking up to a bed full of little people, and performances of “Breakaway”.

And pink toilet paper.

Sometimes, in conversations, the topic of time travel will come up. Where would you go? 1920s jazz age? 1960s free love?

I usually respond with “the building of Stonehenge" and follow up with something about conspiracy theories and seeing how it was actually built.

But if truth be told, I would go back and spend one last day, in the good old days. I would get one last performance of “Breakaway”, smile at the pink toilet paper, go swimming a little bit longer, watch Little Bear, and this time, I would leave knowing:

It will soon be gone-

-And that these truly are the days.

children
2

About the Creator

Mortician Barbie

Professional Coffee Drinker, Full-Time Real Life Mortician, Single Mom, Who Does A Little Of This When Business Is Dead, And Not Cremating Other Aspects Of Life. Creative Fiction, With A Splash Of Reality In Every Story.

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Outstanding

Excellent work. Looking forward to reading more!

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    Well-structured & engaging content

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