A Sticking Point

Could it be that the honeymoon phase of having a magical, pink, fairy princess daughter has finally ended? Is it possible to have a sinking feeling when I hear the pitter- patter of those tiny toes and hear the still-tiny voice that is attached? Has she really grown out of the so-beautiful-and-precious-even-when-I'm-naughty phase?

Or is it me...?
Have I become jaded, forgetful...?
Is it like living with a spectacular Monet painting and seeing it so often that you don't even look anymore?

Something has shifted, changed...for the worse.  I'm feeling at odds with myself...and the little girl she's becoming.This is all new for me, having all "older", technically self-sufficient children. No little one to cling to me, to pay attention to with every breath, to worry about when they're out of eyesight. I mean, really, I could leave the house for several hours and return and they would all be just fine...TECHNICALLY speaking!!

So...some part of me withdraws. I don't feel needed unless there's a squabble...which is every 30 seconds these days between children #2 and #3. Or unless they are hungry...which is every 30.3 seconds. Or unless they need a reminder to stay focused on their chores or school work...which is every 30.6 seconds,

My little daughter, my precious baby...she doesn't need me like she used to...and I feel wobbly inside...unsure of where I fit in, feeling like a spectator...

She's the child that is a walking accident...I'm sure everyone has one or knows one. Things just seem to magically break, fall, disappear whenever she's near...or she gets hurt. She's been known on more than one occasion to suddenly fall completely out of her chair at mealtime and hit the deck, hard! The most common thing to hear is "mommy? I ACCIDENTALLY dropped, broke, lost the..."

So I always tell her no. No, you can't roller skate in their cement basement...no, you can't carry that glass cup across the tile floor...no, you can't squirt the soap all by yourself...no, you can't learn to use a vegetable knife yet...no, you can't use scissors without my supervision...NO...you can't have a normal childhood and learn normal things because I just can't bear the thought of cleaning up any more broken glass, spilled food or blood.

And then I inwardly groan (and sometimes outwardly) and then feel guilty for getting upset...and try hard to look for the patience to cope with a smile...and usually don't find it

And it's a Sticking Point. Because now when I look at her, I see a tornado. And I can't see through the wind of curiosity and compulsiveness that flies around her...I can't make out the pieces and parts of the daughter that I had...the daughter that I want to have.

So mostly I just always feel awful about the way I feel...and I pray...and pray...and pray. Because I've been around long enough to learn that when I'm inadequate, when I feel like a failure, when my vision is skewed, when I am smallest, God is big...and clarity comes...eventually.

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