Hopefully I'm not the only one.
Here's the scenario: I was sitting at a high school basketball game. In walks a young mother with a cute little boy, about 3 years old. She's by herself, 3 bags in hand. He's running around, jumping on the bleachers, yelling. I think "Oh! Well he's a little rambunctious one!" I observe them, thinking of my future children. He isn't listening to his mother. He starts kicking the person in front of him, whom she quickly apologizes to. I'm getting annoyed. She scolds him, he talks back to her, to which she sighs in frustration. I'm thinking "He needs more discipline. She must not make him mind." He runs off, she chases him. I'm left sitting there, pondering. I would never allow my child to act that way. How embarrassing for her, I think. I couldn't imagine.
I think of all these stories I've heard about kids wreaking havoc. Drawing on walls, eating dirt, cutting their own hair, getting lost... I think, "Where were the parents!? That will never be me!"
Fast forward to the present.
I am now married. I have two children. A son, almost one. And a daughter, almost 3. I consider myself a good mother. No, I consider myself a GREAT mother. Involved, self-sacrificing, exhausted. I do everything I can on a daily basis to enrich my children's lives. They are at the forefront of every single decision I make, from what I wear each day to what we eat for dinner. My entire outlook on life is unbelievably different.
You can imagine my surprise when I was blessed with a "rambunctious" little girl. Our "wild-flower", as appropriately dubbed by a dear friend of ours. She is quite the challenge; much like the boy I described. I have literally tried every single method of discipline and tactic you can imagine. She's independent. She's opinionated. It's her way or the highway. We butt heads constantly. In short, she's just like me. From the long blonde hair to the sassy, smart-Alec voice. Head to toe, Me.
I no longer judge those mothers. I am one, and I know others are judging me. While she's screaming in a restaurant. When she hits her baby brother. When she's pulling things off the shelves at the grocery store. They are judging. And I just smile as we walk down the grocery aisle. Sometimes apologetically, sometimes not. And I think, "If they only knew."
And some of them might know. They might know that some parents are blessed with these wild flowers. These hard to tame, beautiful and free souls. These wild flowers that we love more than life itself. That, frustrating as they may be, are the most important things in our lives. That we, exhausted, beaten and even on the verge of tears...daily...wouldn't trade for the world.
I've learned to let her be wild. Safe and wild, and free. I do my best to remember that, even at her worst, even at my worst, she is the best thing that's ever happened to me. She drives me crazy and keeps me sane all at once. She brings out the inner, the hidden, the buried free spirit in all of us.
And I still do envy other mothers. Not always, but sometimes. Those mothers with the quiet children. The ones that always listen and wouldn't dream of talking-back or throwing a tantrum in Walmart. The ones that will sit still and watch an entire movie.
But that only lasts for a second.
And then I remember how lucky I am. To have such a strong-willed, spirited, absolute force in my life. My little blessing, to keep me forever young and forever on my toes. To remind me to be open, to be free and not to judge.
My little wild flower. My little Sage. My little girl.
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