You, My Child

You are not the kid I dreamed of having.

Harsh? Hear me out. Every mama (and daddy too!) has subconscious ideas of who their child will become, and often they’re based on our own passions and hobbies. Or sometimes they’re a chance to live vicariously the privileged childhood we wished we’d had. Either way, we often place our expectations (aka premeditated resentment) on our kids and I doubt there is a parent alive who hasn’t done this to some extent.

These kids grow up in our homes with our influence, our training, our modeling… and they still develop into an entirely unique personality, independent of who we think they should be. A sports-loving dad with a son who gets his cardio from programming computer games, a social butterfly mama raising a daughter who cries at the sight of strangers…

Sometimes we try to change you. Sometimes we grieve for the child you aren’t.

Sometimes we full-on cry because you are so much more amazing than the kid we dreamed of having. Because you are brave. You are ok being you even if it’s not – especially if it’s not – like all your peers. You are aware of your unique interests and abilities and desire to share them with the world. This chokes me up every time because you are so far ahead of where I was at your age.

Sometimes we see how others look at you and we cry again. Because they don’t know you. They see only what you aren’t – the lack, not the fullness of your brilliant, intense, sensitive self. The ‘you’ that still comes to my bedside at night, all long legs and arms, to wrap me in a goodnight hug.

Daily, I’m grateful.

To Creator, for gifting me with the child(ren) I never dreamed of having. For stretching my mind and heart and life to include you and all your amazing brilliance.

To you, for never wavering in who you are just to please others… living fully wholly yourself. The one I never dreamed of having.