My oldest is four. Newly four this March. She's brilliant. And I'm not just saying that because I'm blinded by a Mother's Love (not that I would know, since I'd be "blinded" and all...) but I think she's especially bright. She is observant, witty, and gut-bustingly hilarious. She's sensitive and emotional. She's outspoken and never shy. She will tell you like she sees it. (And she's usually right.) I told her the other day that it isn't nice to tell other people what to do. Her response:
"Why not?"
"Because sometimes people like to figure out things for themselves and they don't need our opinions."
"Well, what if they're wrong?"
"They still won't like to hear you tell them."
She thought about that for a long moment and replied, "I think I'm going to tell them anyway."
That's my little Rew. Strong. Bright. Witty. But painfully and brutally hard on herself and often times overrun with emotion. And it hits a little too close to home. And it breaks my heart.
I worry for my little Rew. I worry that she will always be so hard on herself, she will be afraid to try new things because she will be worried that she won't have them perfected the first time. I fear that the shame of self-disappointment will leave her feeling undervalued. I know all too well the frustration that comes from pushing yourself and pushing yourself and still falling short of some unattainable goal. And it hurts. And I don't want that for her.
And, oh, her sweet, tender heart. She is emotional. She is like looking in a little mirror sometimes. Everything affects her. She feels everything deep down to her soul. When she is happy she is happy from the tips of her toes to the ends of her golden hair. And when she is sad, disappointed, frustrated, ashamed, surprised, embarrassed, angry...well, she's a mess. She's on the floor in pieces. Inconsolable. Flailing and screaming these screams that have every head within a 500 yard radius turning and looking and judging. She can't form words. Can't form thoughts. She's out. of. control.
And it hurts even more. Because I know that she isn't bad. I can honestly say she is the least malicious child I know. I know that she is sweet and caring and sensitive and brilliant. I know that she is probably crying because she tried hard to get something right and she is feeling upset at herself--like the other day: I found her under the kitchen table covering her head and screaming hysterically. I ran up to her and pulled back the chairs. I crawled in beside her and wrapped my arms around her and said, "What? What's wrong? Are you hurt? Tell me what happened. Tell me!" And she just screamed and pointed into the living room. I scoured the room, looking for something out of place. Did she drop something and break it and now she's ashamed and afraid she'll be punished? Did a toy she was playing with fail to cooperate in her make-believe game? Is she out of juice and screaming instead of calmly asking for more? Every option was highly viable. But I couldn't see it. I couldn't see a problem. The toys were exactly as they should be. Her juice cup was full. Little Anna was sitting on the floor, staring wide eyed at the scene unfolding before her one-year-old eyes. After a solid four and a half minutes of hysteria, I ran out of patience. My quiet voice all used up. My ears ringing with shrill screeches. I raised my voice, "Rosaline! Stop it now! Use your words and tell me WHAT IS WRONG???" She looked at me with shocking blue eyes and screamed back, "SISTER!" as she pointed to the quiet and calm little creature at my feet. It was then I noticed, she had tried to put her sister's shoes on her pudgy little feet and accidently gotten a few of the toes stuck on the outside of the sandal strap. Clearly, little Anna was unhurt and really unfazed by the entire event. She idly chewed on her dolly's hand while I removed the shoe. I climbed underneath the table again and scooped up this shaken and emotionally spent four-year-old and rocked her as I calmly showed her how to unstrap the sandal first and place it on Sister's foot properly. Her sobs subsided as I rocked her slowly and she held me tight. "Why were you crying, Rosaline?" I asked. And finally she could respond, "Because I couldn't put Sister's shoe on right. I thought I hurt her foot. I thought four-year-olds could do big girl things on their own. And I can't."
And my heart broke all over again. Because no one told her she had to be big enough to put Sister's shoes on. And no one is pressuring her to be perfect. And Sister wasn't hurt or scared or even upset, but the fear of those things sent my sensitive little girl into a panicked fit that took half an hour to recover from. A fit that recurs every few hours or if we are lucky, every few days. She is just so so sensitive that it is physically painful for her. Her emotions are so acute that her heart breaks over matters that are seemingly inconsequential for most people.
And it scares me. Because I know the world will not have the patience for daily (or hourly) meltdowns. I know that her peers and teachers and coaches will not be in tune with her like I am and they will misunderstand her outbursts as tantrums or naughtiness and not cries for understanding and patience. But my job as a Mom is not to follow her around for the next 85 years and explain to everyone around her that she isn't being bad, she's just feeling really big feelings and she's not sure how to process them. My job is to prepare her for a world that, sadly, doesn't care how she feels. If I could go out and change the world for her, I would. But I can't. So, I need to give her the tools that she will need to get through this life thriving. And I don't know how to do that. I'm at a loss. I'm ill-equipped. I have a tough enough time harnessing my own feelings, much less managing someone else's. I feel like I don't have any answers as to why she is wired the way she is wired, high strung and emotionally volatile. I don't even know if there are any answers this side of heaven.
So, I pray.
Lord, thank you for my little girl. Thank you for creating her to be strong and wild, intelligent and capable. Thank you for instilling in her a strong work ethic. Thank you for giving her a sensitive spirit. I am so blessed to be her Mommy. I ask now that you would grant me wisdom as I raise her in You. Continue to fill me with patience, because too often I feel like I've run out. Grant me forgiveness when I fail her and endurance when I feel I'm about to. Please bless our home with peace and happiness. Let the words that come out of my mouth be uplifting and encouraging to Rosaline's little heart. Give me the tools I need to teach her how to be a woman of Christ. Help me show her, through my actions and words, how to be filled with sensitivity and compassion as well as self-control. Speak your kindness through me during the long nights and loud fits. Guide me and show me how to better love her everyday. Give me peave and comfort during these seasons of relentless doubt. Thank you again for the precious gift of motherhood and for the brilliant little lights you've placed in my life. I love you, Jesus. Amen.
And I pray again a verse over my sweet girl. To be my mantra during the shrillest moments with her:
"Grow in the grace and knowledge of Jesus Christ. And to Him be the Glory Forever. Amen."
2 Peter 3:18
