To my sweet Laurel,
Eight years ago today we began our journey together. Never in a million years could I have imagined that life would be what it is today. Never in a million years could I have imagined the joys and challenges and personal growth and reflection that would result from growing a daughter.
In some ways, you’re still my baby. You still love to cuddle. Your dad and Violet and I are still the center of your universe. But I know it won’t always be like this. These days I’ve taken to asking before assuming you want to hold my hand. Your face and body have evolved from cute and cuddly waddling panda (your sister now fits that bill) to long and lean trotting pony. Yesterday you commandeered my phone for a half hour to talk to one of your girlfriends. (And so it begins.)
And I find myself a bit conflicted by it all. Normally I try to stay really positive, but the truth is, I have fears. I have hopes too, but they seem to ride in parallel with my fears.
1. Sometimes I fear that my typical attentiveness has set the bar too high. These days I’ve been flailing a little. I’ve become the mom who misses memos. Yesterday I failed to take photos of your first day of school. I had several moments this week where I almost scheduled things on your birthday before remembering it was your birthday. Today I won’t be cooking or baking at all. Given that I’m leaving for California tomorrow your dad (wisely) convinced me to outsource everything. I hope you know that I don’t always want to be this scattered. And that a store bought cake celebrated with love is perfectly fine.
2. Sometimes I fear that you think I love work more than I love you. Obviously, that is not the case but it is true that I love working. And unlike everyday play, work has deadlines. I hope you know that despite the deadlines, you, dad, and Violet are truly the center of my universe.
3. Sometimes I fear that my impatient moments will stick with you. I’ve had so many demands on me this year and your maturity sometimes makes me forget that you’re a child. I hope you know that I don’t relish those impatient moments. That I’m working on creating more degrees of freedom in my time.
4. Sometimes I fear that your cautiousness will keep you from exploring great things. I hope that I will always be able to remember that your pace is your pace. And it’s moving you along perfectly well right now.
5. Sometimes I fear that you feel too much responsibility for your dad and me and Violet. I hope that you will learn that we are okay, even in moments of discord, and that your job right now is to be a kid.
6. Sometimes I fear that you and Violet will grow distant. That seems impossible right now but given what I have endured with one of my siblings, it’s clearly not out of the realm of possibility. I hope that I will be able to teach you to communicate well and deal with issues and think of the bigger picture.
7. Sometimes I fear that you will look in the mirror and be overly critical of the person looking back at you. I know self-consciousness is around the corner and I am, quite frankly, dreading it. I know we have talked about body image and diversity. I know for sure that we will keep talking about it. I hope you will always see what I see in you.
8. Sometimes I fear that you will not be able to stand your ground with men. You’re so young, but like #7, this fear lurks in my corners, based on my personal history. I don’t want you to suffer the emotional abuse I suffered at the hands of someone who allegedly loved me. I don’t want you to feel like you have no voice if you are accosted by male teachers who are supposed to be on your side. I know I can’t protect you from everything but I hope that I will be able to teach you to stand strong and tall and always know you have a voice.
Clearly, sometimes (often times?) I fear that my issues will become your issues. I hope that the efforts I have made (and keep making) to work through and beyond my baggage will keep you from repeating my past. Despite the fears that parenting has raised for me, I am always, always full of hope. Every day I feel gratitude for what you and Violet have brought to my life, and for the lessons you have taught me.
I love you and wish for so much awesomeness for your eighth year.
Love, Mama
Oh man, I needed a warning before reading this at work. I think so many of us could write these very words to our own daughters.
Only my kids will never grow up assuming I’ll be baking all the time. We nipped that in the bud early.
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Christine Koh Reply:
September 6th, 2012 at 9:10 am
With the baking I always think of that book I Don’t Know How She Does It — where the main character buys apple buys and smashes them to make them look homemade.
More seriously, I think of you all the time Liz, when I’m wresting with working mom stuff. Truly, I don’t know how you do it.
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Happy Birthday Laurel!
Christine, while these concerns are all understandable, your little girl is one of the most compassionate, intelligent, and articulate eight year olds I’ve met. She’s going to grow to be an amazing woman. You and Jon have done a great job.
PS – I missed some school memos too. Happens to the best of us.
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Christine Koh Reply:
September 6th, 2012 at 9:06 am
Thank you Jodi…truly. Also, totally out of the blue yesterday Laurel started talking about Marin’s birthday — I hope you guys have a wonderful celebration!
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Happy Birthday, Laurel! Christine, you are one of the best moms I know and this post clearly proves it. You inspire me continuously to take on the challenges and joys of parenthood, one of these days. Keep up the awesome. Much love, Meliss
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Christine Koh Reply:
September 6th, 2012 at 10:03 am
That is just so kind of you Melissa. And I’m here, waiting to celebrate the day you and parenthood meet up!
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Happy Birthday, Laurel! Christine, your letter is so beautiful. I echo the previous comments that this letter really resonated my thoughts for my own daughter even though she is only 2. I am sure that Laurel will think this was one of the most special gifts she ever received–especially when she looks back on it as a grown woman and maybe the mother of a daughter herself.
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oh my word. Bawling my eyes out here at my desk. What a beautiful, frank, and loving post. Laurel is one lucky lady to have a mama that is so wise and reflective. Happy 8th birthday Laurel!!!! May we one day do our nails together again (with real nail polish, not play doh)
xoxo
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Christine Koh Reply:
September 6th, 2012 at 10:06 am
YES KIM. We’ll take a nail date with you anytime!
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Clearly something is in this wind, as I feel I’ve seen these fears and thoughts echoed in the photos and updates I’ve seen on FB and Twitter from our other working mom cohorts.
I know too well the fears, but I’m confident (and I think you should be too) that because of our fears we will do our best to make sure our children don’t bring along too much of our baggage, or ever forget that they are not the number 1 priority in our lives (despite all the deadlines).
Happy birthday Laurel and Christine!
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This was so beautiful. You made me mist up a little, darn it.
I have many of these same fears and concerns for my own daughter. And they haven’t diminished the older she’s grown. Motherhood is a constant concern regardless of the choices we make for our daughters. I can only hope is that one day, when she is a grown woman herself, she will not only have the tools she needs to navigate this world but she will look back and know that I did my very best. And remember that I make the best darn pies ever.
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Christine Koh Reply:
September 6th, 2012 at 10:12 pm
OK, now I want one of your pies. xoxo
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Thanks for sharing your soul, Christine. It helps to know we’re all worrying together. BTW I couldn’t get the link on body image and diversity to work. And happy birthday Laurel!
xoxox
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Christine Koh Reply:
September 6th, 2012 at 11:47 am
Thanks C…and fixed the link.
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First, Happy Birthday Laurel! Your only job today is to eat cake. Do it well.
Second, Christine, most of what you put here on this paper (figuratively) rings so true for me as well with my daughter and son. This helped me articulate the general apprehension I have as my kids grow older and understand the world around them more. Knowing what you fear is half the battle.
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Oh, Christine – I feel every single one of these in my heart, in my gut. I know just what you mean about how the fears and hopes are intermingled, inextricable. Happy birthday and lots of love to BOTH of you. xo
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Christine Koh Reply:
September 6th, 2012 at 10:13 pm
Lindsey, funny, I was thinking of you while I wrote this post. Also, one of my gifts to Laurel was the Just Between Us journal you recommended. I can’t wait to start sharing with her in it.
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This is a lovely post Christine! Laurel is a lucky little girl to have a mama who cares so much. And I’m not sure if this makes you feel better or not but my kids don’t even go to school and I miss memos, forget appointments, show up without some critical item for practices. . . ; )
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Wow, this made me cry. What a beautiful letter to Laurel. I have some of these same worries, and my daughter is only 2 and a half. I feel like time moves incredibly quickly once you have a child. Very bittersweet. Thank you for sharing.
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You are spot on, sister. This gave me chills and made me tear up on the subway. My oldest, Sydney, started 1st grade today. That delicate balance of protecting him and giving him some freedom is already so hard. My heart hurts…
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Ah my friend! The charge of raising girls. You give them much by working. You set an example that will reach far into their futures. You model passion. You give them permission to trust that when you go away you come back and they are still safe That is huge. All the cupcakes and cookies can’t replace that! Though at the end of the day it is that yumminess they’ll remember, not your impatience. Thanks for the opportunity to reflect on my own parenting and remind myself of these things too xo
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I identify with so many of these. Be kind to yourself, C. Your girl loves you more than you know, I’m certain of it.
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Happiest of birthdays to Laurel. I missed my daughter’s concert so I think the worst mom of the year award will belong to me. Kindness is one of the few things that I wish every parent paid attention to for their kids. Sadly this is not the case as my 7 year old finds out. Thanks for nurturing one of the good ones.
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What a lovely letter to your daughter. Laurel will always appreciate you for who you *are* including being honest with her about your fears. You amaze me every day, my dear, dear friend.
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You’ve articulated so many of my own fears, too. But I truly think that this level of honesty and self-reflection will be the best gift you can give her.
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This is so spot on! I have a nine year old daughter. She already says that all I do is work work work. What she doesn’t realize is that in order to spend the time I do with her, I’ve actually taken a big career hit by being on the mommy track at my law firm for several years.
This is my first time here; I’ve just bookmarked you.
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