There are days when it's all so simple. The ebb and flow feels just right. The tide washes gently over our lives and I'm in sync with all things. Granted, those days are usually accompanied by my having eaten something off the floor of a public restroom while I'm scrubbing away, but I digress...
Today I had a real crisis of confidence. It happened at the Little Gym. Well, before actually. I went to Bootcamp and had another great workout. I'm steadily losing weight and inches and feeling good about my discipline. I got home, did some laundry, cleaned up the kitchen and figured out that bad smelling thing was me! I popped in the shower at 9:22 and just as I soaped my hair I thought, "Fuck! Rio's dance class!", which is at 9:30 and it's about 15 minutes away.
I jumped out, toweled off, dressed her in record time and zoomed to class. We were late, needless to say. I like to be early as a rule, and with a [still struggling for the right word. a label. an easy thing to say that tells the world she's not one to jump in. she takes her time. she can't/won't be rushed...] child it's crucial to give her time to adjust to feel comfortable. I, for one, do not understand this. I could be dropped in the middle of any social situation you can imagine and feel comfortable within seconds. My daughter, not so much.
We spent almost all of dance class sitting on the floor. She wouldn't leave my lap. Stood up a couple of times but quickly returned. The other mothers were talking and laughing and having some grown-up time and I was on the floor in the dance studio. I felt like we were both very conspicuous. I don't mind it at all for me; I mind it a lot for her.
The second half of class is in the gym. She knows I can't go in there with her. I let her take her lovey, Guy aka Thing 1 or 2, and she went in. And out. And in. And out. And in. It was while she was inside that I had that horrible moment. The other kids were all sitting on the giant mat and then jumping on it while it deflated. Rio was off to the side, watching but very separate, on a small stack of mats she sat alone.
It was then, looking at the side of her little face, the profile so perfect to me, that the arrow pierced me. I lay my hand on my chest for fear the mothers would hear my heart pounding; squeezing; screaming. I thought, 'Is this how it's going to be?' and instantly hated myself for thinking it.
I don't want a sheep. I want a strong child that grows into a strong woman. But I want her to be happy. Comfortable. Okay.
Arguably, she is just that. After class she told Mr. Nick, "I went in and out, but I didn't cry!", all proud of herself.
It's times like these when I feel alone on this journey. Everyone who knows and loves her and me will say she's great. She's fine. Bear is not social. He's not anti-social, he just doesn't care about many people. When I tell him she was separate he thinks it good. He says he understands that. I wish I did... So, I put it here - mostly just to put it down.
But it's things like this that make me seriously wonder if I'm cut out for this.
I always knew with certainty that I didn't want children. I was wrong. It's the most terrifying thing I've ever done and that, my friends, is a huge statement. But I love every day with her. I feel blessed for the first time ever. Blessed.
I always knew with certainty I'd be a horrible mother. My mother told me this would be true. She told me every chance she had. I heard thousands of times, "Don't have children. You can't keep a plant/fish/relationship alive!". She was wrong. It turns out I'm a great mom. I'm patient and I feed her. :)
Recently I've had a feeling that everything will be okay. She'll find her way. She'll be happy - no matter her social likes and dislikes. She'll be comfortable and things will come easily for her. She'll learn how to manage situations so she can enjoy them.
I hope I'm not wrong.