What Does It Feel Like?
Any chance I get, I ask Tate what it’s like to be her.
When I’m most humble, it’s clear to me I don’t really know. And she wants me to know. I want to know.
I never had parents who were so kind to each other. I was never surrounded by people day in and day out having a private screen in their pocket or their hands. I was never concerned about climate change, loud neighbors or high winds. I never had even close to the confidence she has. Never was I so extroverted, and comfortable in my own, happy skin. I never knew having emotions was okay. I never knew I belonged the way she does.
So, I ask. I ask whenever I remember and take whatever she gives me as a little peephole into her days and nights. Into her brain. Her heart.
“What’s it like to be an only child?”
“What’s it like to be able to climb trees like that"?
“What does it feel like to have one week left of summer?”
“What’s it like to be the youngest cousin"?”
“What’s it like being almost eight?”
“What’s it feel like having gone down your first black Diamond, reading your own chapter books, owning a kitten, being best friends with a boy?”
“What’s it like being a girl in fifth grade?”
“What’s it feel like starting a new school, honey?”
I didn’t realize how many times I’ve asked her this question. How often. Never enough in my mind as she’s changing every day in FRONT of my very eyes. I can barely keep up - with her new styles, ideas, tastes, interests, with her now being almost taller than me.
This, too, is why I always add that she can change her mind tomorrow. When I ask, I’m just asking for the ‘right now’ answer - she’s not locked in.
*
Last week, sitting out on the back patio together eating dinner and playing cards, Tate asks “What’s it like being a Mom, Mama? Tell me everything.”
This is not an outcome of all my questioning that I’d ever anticipated. And there and then, I feel the why. And k n o w why I’ve done it. Why I’ll never stop.
As I begin to try to describe this role of a lifetime, it’s reward, challenge, the bewilderment, the humility, the frustration, the learning, the love …
I’m nervous, unsure, trying not to filter but to answer in a way where she can feel the overriding positive, the honor I consider parenting to be.
“It’s a super big question, babe. Can I revise or even maybe chenge my answer tomorrow or next week?”
Tate promises me that of course I can,”Everything’s always changing, Mama,” and listens with her whole being.
“Sounds like a lot. Like amazing but also tiring…” she wistfully reflects, when I’m done nervously telling her the highs and lows.
I’m reminded of when she as six, and with her deliciously little chubby fingers cupped around my ear, she whispered her blow-out birthday candle wish to me. It was - I wish I’ll have six children one day.
And then how the past few years, she’s told me she never wants to become a mom.
How the first time I took it as a sign of doing well - if she wants kids, I’ve obviously made it seem fun! And then how the latter shares have made me feel like I’ve been failing.
When really, neither meant anything about me. That’s the thing. Listening and just allowing, to the truth, whatever it may be. And not making it about myself.
Onward we go, in our learning, our sharing, our growth - both of us witnessing each other, while changing before our own eyes.
