Wow, did I just write that?
My baby, my beautiful, innocent little girl.
Right now, when you look at me with those big blue eyes, it's hard for me to imagine the day when you won't be so innocent anymore. It's very hard, and I have to admit that I'm struggling with something that, twenty years ago, I would've rolled my eyes over, had my mother expressed the same struggle.
That boy you're dating? I may like him. I may even love him. I may hope that you marry him and the two of you live sixty or seventy years together, with ten kids and a hundred grandkids. He may be the 'son I never had'.
But let me admit to you right now: Deep down, I want to throttle him for what I know is going to happen. Or may have already happened. Because remember, Ally, that I will always be your mother. You will always be my baby. My sweet, innocent angel who right now is still prancing through the life stage that comes before eating the fruit from the Tree of Knowledge.
You don't have a clue what sex is, and I like it that way. Your mind and body are pure, and I like it that way. There is a deep, instinctive part of me that wishes you could stay that way forever.
Of course I know you won't. I know that one day (much, much too soon), your eyes will be opened to the wide world of boys and hormones and feelings you've never imagined experiencing, and they will overwhelm the crap out of you for a long time. I know, it happened to me.
You'll get your first crush and when his eyes meet yours, it'll set off butterflies in your stomach, your heart will skip a beat, you'll want to melt into a puddle.
Eventually some little boy will hold your hand and you'll think nothing has ever been that exciting... until one of them kisses you, and that will blow your mind. And then one will tell you he loves you, and you'll feel like you're going to expire on the spot.
It'll happen so fast, kid. You have no idea. It'll seem like an eternity to you, but for me? I know that if I blink after clicking "publish" on this post, it'll be happening already.
You're going to grow up and your body will change, as will those of the boys around you. You're going to start wanting things, feeling curious about things. You're going to think about sex a long, long time before I'm ready for you to be thinking about it, and good Lord, what that does to my mommy heart.
Here's the thing, baby girl. Lately I have read article after article, blog post after blog post, written by parents, either aimed at other parents, at their children, or at the puberty-stricken teenage peers of their children.
Many of them are aimed at young girls, and the behavior of so many young girls in the modern technology age. Social media, text messaging, snapchat... you name it.
Ally, so help me God, if I catch you taking provocative pictures of yourself and sending them to anyone, anywhere, I will lock you in your bedroom with no phone, no computer, no nothing for the rest of your life.
....
No, I won't. Not for the rest of your life. But I will be upset, and disappointed in you, and you'll be grounded for an indeterminate amount of time. Why? Because I did not incubate your little person for 39 weeks and then spend the next ___teen years carefully raising you, loving you, teaching you, and protecting you just for you to turn around and disrespect yourself enough to encourage boys to objectify you that way.
Nobody on earth loves you as much as I do, Ally, and nobody ever will. Whatever lucky little punk wins your heart and marries you better spend the rest of his life trying to achieve that goal, but I'm telling you now, he won't. And so, on that authority, I am telling you that you not only deserve to be treated with respect, but you should insist on it. Demand it. In order for you to get it, you have to first have it for yourself.
Teenage boys, and men in general, are visual creatures. They're hard-wired that way, to See it and Want it. Much, much more so than girls. You might see something and want it, but you're not driven by that the way boys are.
I don't mean that if you're on the beach in a bikini, any boy within sight should be thinking about you as a sexual receptacle (hint: you're not). They will See, and they will Want. And it'll make you feel good, too. Attractive, desired.
That's fine. Normal, even (even though I just visibly winced at the thought). What you're experiencing is a part of life, it's a rite of passage from childhood into adulthood. It's hard, it's confusing, and these days I know it's far too easy to believe that you're ready for adult experiences years before you'll actually be emotionally ready for them. It's okay that you want boys to notice you, it's okay that you want them to be attracted to you, and yes, it's fine for them to be attracted to you.
What is not fine is if he thinks that all you are is something to be desired. What is even more not fine is if you make him think that's all you are.
My generation is not inclined to take personal responsibility for our actions, and yours will be even less inclined. You, however, are expected to take full personal responsibility.
Is rape the victim's fault? No, it is not, ever. I don't care if the girl pranced naked up to the guy and sat on his lap. He's just as capable of controlling himself as anyone. No means no, and there's no such thing as "She was asking for it."
Was she being stupid for prancing naked up to a guy she didn't want to have sex with and sitting on his lap? Yes. She was. Because not everyone will control themselves.
You are expected to control yourself. You are expected to carry yourself with dignity and self-respect. You're expected to see, or learn, the difference between boys who like you for you and ones who like you because you're willing to act like you have no self-respect.
It's not okay for him to call you a slut or a whore, but it's also not okay for you to act like one.
It's not okay for him to look at you and only think about what's between your legs, but it's up to you to be more than what's between your legs.
You are smart. You are so, so funny. You are sweet and kind and strong-willed and beautiful, and I'm amazed every day by the fact that God gave you to me to raise. You drive me crazy with your stubborn spirit, but I love that about you, too, because I know that one day, when it's no longer something I have to battle with in order to raise you right, it's going to be an invaluable tool, a huge advantage in your life.
Do I think it's ridiculous that people expect girls to take complete responsibility for the thoughts of young men? Absolutely. Young men should learn self-control and how to rein in their libido when they see girls stupidly disrespecting their bodies.
Don't disrespect your body, Ally, because it's more than that. It's disrespecting your entire self, and as the person who loves your entire self so much more than you'll ever know (until you have your own baby), I am not okay with that.
I love you, little face.
Mommy.
Thursday, September 5, 2013
Sunday, January 6, 2013
2012
Dear readers,
I realize I stopped mid-story with the tale of Ally's surgery. I got sidetracked. It happens - a lot - and life got busy and there's a lot more that happened that I haven't passed along. But right now, I need to write a letter to my daughter. I hope you understand.
Dear Ally,
We've had quite a year.
One year ago right now we had no idea what was lurking beneath the surface. Daddy and I had just a month or so before been talking about how lucky we were, how healthy you'd been and what a blessing it was.
Here's something 2012 taught me: there is a blessing in everything. It's not always easy to see, but it's there. There's a reason for it, there's a silver lining.
As scary as your diagnosis was (and still is) and as much as the stress in the first half of the year felt like too much to cope with, we were unbelievably lucky to find out when we did, how we did.
Dr. Lau told us that you weren't his youngest patient with HCM, but you were close. He told us you weren't the most severe case among his patients, but you were close. The fact is that if it hadn't been for the heart murmur, we wouldn't have known anything was wrong at all, and the fact that your heart murmur was unrelated to the HCM just drives the point home that much stronger. If you hadn't had the heart murmur, we would be going about life as usual without knowing there was a ticking time bomb in your chest.
We could've been one of those families who don't know anything is wrong until one day everything is wrong, maybe too late to do anything about it. I can't even begin to fathom what that would be like, to be sitting in the stands watching you play soccer or softball or whatever physical activity you chose, only to have the world stop turning when you collapsed from a heart attack at an age where no one should be collapsing from anything except giggles.
We are so, so lucky. And you, my sweet, wild angel, are just amazing.
You're five years old now, but eight or so months ago you were four years old in an operating room with a machine doing your living for you. Three times, they stopped your heart to cut on it. Hours and hours we spent, our own hearts stopping every time they called us up to let us know your progress. I can't begin to describe to you how that felt. I would've traded places with you without a second thought. I would've given you my heart if I could have, just so you would never have to go through what you went through.
Five days in the hospital, going through things you didn't understand. Five weeks recovering before you could go back to playing with your friends like a normal kid your age.
You bounced back so quickly, scaring me to death by running and jumping and playing when your sternum was held together by wire and your chest by stitches. They warned me that it would be that way, that two weeks post-op you'd be climbing the walls, and it was true.
Over eight months later, you have a device implanted in your stomach that will shock your heart if it tries to fail. That was a good decision, because now at least I know we have that. Now I don't have to rely on my CPR training to keep you alive, because honestly, when it comes to you, I am in no way rational or objective. You are everything to me.
Friday was your great-grandmother's birthday. She's been gone for six weeks, but would've been 89 years old, and she's been such a big part of your life that it breaks my heart that you don't have her anymore. When you tell me she's in heaven with God, it's bittersweet for me.
You'll remember Granny. That's a silver lining. You won't get to learn from her the way I did, won't know her as an adult, and that makes me sad but realistically I've always known that would be the case. She is your *great* grandmother, and she was already well into her 80s before you were born.
You don't remember Pawpaw beyond the concept of him, and of course you don't remember Noni. These are things that are hard for me, as your mother, because I know what you're missing out on. Everything has changed in my own life so very much in the last five years, everything is different, and it's disorienting for me but I have to remember that this is your normal. This is your life, what we have here.
I'm trying, really hard, to make it a happy one. I want you to know that.
You're so smart, so energetic (could you back it down a notch, please? Mommy still worries about your heart), so creative and imaginative. You love to draw, love to read books, love to pretend you're a puppy.
You never stop chattering, rarely stop moving. You're independent but you still need me, too. You ask hundreds of questions a day - literally - and sometimes I want to lock myself in the closet just to get a moment's peace. You're five years old and this is normal, and once this stage has passed I'll miss it just like all the others.
You're so funny, too. You make me laugh all the time, even when everything you say ends with "..right, Mommy?", and I hope that when you're grown you will remember the laughter and not the times when Mommy got frustrated with you, when my patience was worn thin, when I simply could not answer another. Single. Question.
I hope you remember the moments like today, when we snuggled up in bed and had a conversation about whether or not God is real, and how He manages to be everywhere at one time.
I hope you remember helping Daddy make dinner, shaking your head and laughing at him when he thought you were doing something wrong but you were actually doing it right.
I hope you remember going to the park and the zoo and the train place in Cincinnati. I hope you remember how much you love pre-school and the friends you've made there.
But the truth is, Ally, I hope you remember what you went through this year, because it's shaped all our lives so completely, and you pulled through it like a champ. I am so very proud of you, and I love you so very much.
-Mommy
I realize I stopped mid-story with the tale of Ally's surgery. I got sidetracked. It happens - a lot - and life got busy and there's a lot more that happened that I haven't passed along. But right now, I need to write a letter to my daughter. I hope you understand.
Dear Ally,
We've had quite a year.
One year ago right now we had no idea what was lurking beneath the surface. Daddy and I had just a month or so before been talking about how lucky we were, how healthy you'd been and what a blessing it was.
Here's something 2012 taught me: there is a blessing in everything. It's not always easy to see, but it's there. There's a reason for it, there's a silver lining.
As scary as your diagnosis was (and still is) and as much as the stress in the first half of the year felt like too much to cope with, we were unbelievably lucky to find out when we did, how we did.
Dr. Lau told us that you weren't his youngest patient with HCM, but you were close. He told us you weren't the most severe case among his patients, but you were close. The fact is that if it hadn't been for the heart murmur, we wouldn't have known anything was wrong at all, and the fact that your heart murmur was unrelated to the HCM just drives the point home that much stronger. If you hadn't had the heart murmur, we would be going about life as usual without knowing there was a ticking time bomb in your chest.
We could've been one of those families who don't know anything is wrong until one day everything is wrong, maybe too late to do anything about it. I can't even begin to fathom what that would be like, to be sitting in the stands watching you play soccer or softball or whatever physical activity you chose, only to have the world stop turning when you collapsed from a heart attack at an age where no one should be collapsing from anything except giggles.
We are so, so lucky. And you, my sweet, wild angel, are just amazing.
You're five years old now, but eight or so months ago you were four years old in an operating room with a machine doing your living for you. Three times, they stopped your heart to cut on it. Hours and hours we spent, our own hearts stopping every time they called us up to let us know your progress. I can't begin to describe to you how that felt. I would've traded places with you without a second thought. I would've given you my heart if I could have, just so you would never have to go through what you went through.
Five days in the hospital, going through things you didn't understand. Five weeks recovering before you could go back to playing with your friends like a normal kid your age.
You bounced back so quickly, scaring me to death by running and jumping and playing when your sternum was held together by wire and your chest by stitches. They warned me that it would be that way, that two weeks post-op you'd be climbing the walls, and it was true.
Over eight months later, you have a device implanted in your stomach that will shock your heart if it tries to fail. That was a good decision, because now at least I know we have that. Now I don't have to rely on my CPR training to keep you alive, because honestly, when it comes to you, I am in no way rational or objective. You are everything to me.
Friday was your great-grandmother's birthday. She's been gone for six weeks, but would've been 89 years old, and she's been such a big part of your life that it breaks my heart that you don't have her anymore. When you tell me she's in heaven with God, it's bittersweet for me.
You'll remember Granny. That's a silver lining. You won't get to learn from her the way I did, won't know her as an adult, and that makes me sad but realistically I've always known that would be the case. She is your *great* grandmother, and she was already well into her 80s before you were born.
You don't remember Pawpaw beyond the concept of him, and of course you don't remember Noni. These are things that are hard for me, as your mother, because I know what you're missing out on. Everything has changed in my own life so very much in the last five years, everything is different, and it's disorienting for me but I have to remember that this is your normal. This is your life, what we have here.
I'm trying, really hard, to make it a happy one. I want you to know that.
You're so smart, so energetic (could you back it down a notch, please? Mommy still worries about your heart), so creative and imaginative. You love to draw, love to read books, love to pretend you're a puppy.
You never stop chattering, rarely stop moving. You're independent but you still need me, too. You ask hundreds of questions a day - literally - and sometimes I want to lock myself in the closet just to get a moment's peace. You're five years old and this is normal, and once this stage has passed I'll miss it just like all the others.
You're so funny, too. You make me laugh all the time, even when everything you say ends with "..right, Mommy?", and I hope that when you're grown you will remember the laughter and not the times when Mommy got frustrated with you, when my patience was worn thin, when I simply could not answer another. Single. Question.
I hope you remember the moments like today, when we snuggled up in bed and had a conversation about whether or not God is real, and how He manages to be everywhere at one time.
I hope you remember helping Daddy make dinner, shaking your head and laughing at him when he thought you were doing something wrong but you were actually doing it right.
I hope you remember going to the park and the zoo and the train place in Cincinnati. I hope you remember how much you love pre-school and the friends you've made there.
But the truth is, Ally, I hope you remember what you went through this year, because it's shaped all our lives so completely, and you pulled through it like a champ. I am so very proud of you, and I love you so very much.
-Mommy
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