My Pride (and Prejudice)

The day I found out I was having a daughter, I cried.  What the hell am I supposed to do with a girl? I prefered jeans, never owned a Barbie, flirted as well as a bucket of fried chicken and occasionally (or daily) smelled my armpits.  With every cell in my body, I could not bear the thought of having my first child be a girl.  I was my mother’s first daughter, and our relationship was passionate in the best and worst of ways.  History, I felt, was repeating itself, and I was not emotionally and physically prepared.  Then, I decided that my daughter would be resilient, smart, autonomous and ooze gumption.  Ann Richards, the badass, would be a dim light next to my kid.  On a Tuesday, at exactly 11:00 pm, the world granted my wish.  Bennet, named after the loving and self-assured Elizabeth Bennet in Pride and Prejudice, has rocked my world since that April day.  I am  a woman wizard--I willed my kid’s personality.

She is the most complex, passionate and prideful (other than my mother) human I know.  I do not yell, and I stumble upon some beast version of myself that is roaring words at her face.  Working with children feels natural to me, and she makes me work so damn hard.  I naturally labored for 10 hours on Pictocin (similar to being repeatedly punched by warlocks falling from the sky) with her, and every interaction since then has remained the same—honest, from-the-gut, passionate and effortful.  She can bring me my highest highs, and she has shown me the lowest of valleys as a mother.  And you know what, I cannot contain my excitement for the woman she will one day become. 

I cannot wait for the day you let go of you pride to see your full, wonderful and bountiful worth.

I cannot wait for the day you show your true dancing, loving, emotional self without abashment.  

I cannot wait for the moment you realize how much the world needs you.

Sweet dear, you are my Amazing.  Today, I want to thank you for your wisdom.  You have taught me much.

Don’t put up with people’s shit  Since day one, some may say that Bennet is fickled when it comes to letting people in.  What I have come to realize is that she is open and honest with those who approach her without an ego.  If you try too hard, it ain’t happening.  Use lies?  She’ll see through it.  Try to coax her with lack of sincerity, she’ll just walk away.  However, be truthful, be kind and give her your time, and you have sealed a friendship for all days.  She does not have time for anything less than uber-meaningful.  This, folks, is life-efficiency at its best.  Give time to those who matter most. 

Find another way  At the age of one, Bennet wanted a cookie.  So, I gave her one.  “Mama, more cookie.”  On this day, I was not willing to agree to her conditions.  “No, Bennet.”  My father then came to the table, and Bennet quickly said, “A cookie for Popeye.”  She reached for another cookie and placed it in front of him.  As he was about to grab the treat, she simply said, “Popeye share,” and looked at him straight in the eyes.  My dad was so tickled by her selfish and brilliant antics that he gave her the whole damn thing.  She got her way, and she used her brain. 

(Really) Listen to music  Bennet loves, loves, loves music.  She can differentiate between all of the singer-songwriters.  “Mama, Passenger, Ed Sheeran and Ben Howard sound a lot alike.”  When a beat is dropped, sheesh, you best get out of the way.  Her body will start to shake, convulse and move with as much force and energy as the Beastie Boys (one of her faves).  At 13 months, Bennet would start to tear up and cry if we played a ballad.  Whether it was a slow lullaby or a perfect classical piece, her whole body would respond.  She takes the time (and heart) to find beauty in one of life’s greatest pleasures.  Music is good for the soul, and she lives this daily.

Love and love and love  She has so much love to give.  She thinks about the homeless, dogs who are lost and those who love her most.  Recently, I told Bennet about my miscarriage.  She is a baby whisperer.  She wears a real Bjorn around the house and in public.  Her favorite smell is baby (and books).  She carries her babies in a real infant car seat (this makes us look like lazy parents) and puts it in the trunk of the Subaru (this makes us look like criminals).

After several days of Mama crying and  being sad, I knew it was time to bring her in.  After watching Up, Bennet knew that sometimes babies don’t live here on earth.  She has asked a lot of questions, and we have answered them all.   I took a slow breath and told her my story.

Bennet:  Mama, your baby is in heaven?

Me:  Yes.

Bennet:  How big was the baby?

Me:  She was small, love.

Bennet:  That’s why you’re sad? Because she's not here?

Me.  Yes.

Bennet:  I love you. 

She proceeded to give me a hug and subsequent hugs over the next several days.  For some reason, her hugs consoled me the most.  She could sense when I needed one, and simply gave what she could at that very moment—her awesome and honest compassion. 

Be comfortable with YOU For the last several months, Bennet has become Simon.  She cut her hair, buys clothes from the boys’ section and spends her time correcting those who call her by the wrong pronoun.  While there are moments when she wants to be Bennet, Simon is the one typically hanging out at abode la Palafox.  I know I did not find this kind of self-honesty until I was in my twenties (same time I discovered brie —another life gift).  He has already stumbled upon this self-comfort and makes no excuses for it.  This blows my mind.

And, you know what, history is repeating itself.  This relationship is my most passionate.  We will both be better for it.  I just know it.