Yesterday I had a (planned) visit from my two children. My daughter insisted to come. She said in a text message that if she doesn’t initiate a meeting, she will probably not see me till the end of the world. I thought she would like that very much not seeing me, but apparently not. So, after seven months (the last time we saw each other was during christmas dinner at my house) she arrived at my door around four o’clock in the afternoon with her partner whom she pined, waited, chased and finally caught after fourteen years of hope and anguish. They had my son in tow who forgot to ask his lesbian but could be bi erotic blogging housemate to accompany him so he was therefore alone.
Because she got her boyfriend with her, my daughter is reasonably polite and less hostile towards me, but could not let the opportunity pass to mention once again that my hair is too long for my age (hers is shorter than ever and my son doesn’t like it so is the boyfriend who uncharacteristically pointed out to her that she could at least let her hair grow like mine: longish, stylish and shining. Not a very smart move from his part I thought but my daughter surprisingly took it remarkably good) and my short a bit too short for a short.
I am used to that kind of remarks coming from her and just swallow it smiling. Trying to fight her is useless I find out. She will lose anyway. Too emotionally bothered when it comes to me, my daughter. Every meeting with her is a sure recipe for disaster if I take every word she says seriously. She got a very large chip on her shoulder and I don’t see any sign of her being ready for a surgery anytime soon. At twenty-seven, she is still suffering a major case of… I have no word for it. She (seems) wanting to be me although she will forcefully deny it if anyone ask. I long give up understanding her. I asked her once why she’s always so mad at me. She cannot come up with any decent answer other than: “I don’t know!”
Like always, she found an excuse to end up in my dressing, shopped in there and when she didn’t find anything that fits (she’s long way passed the ‘chubby’ stage and on the way to losing ‘cute’ as well. Another Noli Me Tangere subject which could end up in violent emotional outburst if touch) she contented herself by grabbing two bottles of almost unused perfumes off my dressing table. I’m glad I get rid of them. I hate perfumes but buy them occasionally for decorations. That is if the bottles are pretty enough.
I notice that my son is looking more and more like his father. Poker face and unfathomable, even for a mind reader like me. Scary sometimes to see the invisible inseverable ties you have with someone you rather forget because it hurts. I even fancy he slowly shedding off his only resemblance to me which is his character. He is becoming indifferent and distant. I hope I am only imagining it.
Or perhaps it is me who changed. Maybe I don’t feel guilty anymore leaving them and over-compensating it by giving in too much. Maybe like with my own family, I realized I don’t need them in my life to be happy and their well-being and safety are not my sole responsibility. That I can’t protect them always, that I have to let them go and let them find their niche in this world with success and failure like everyone else. Maybe I (finally) grow up.
D. says that all my daughter wants is my approval, my unconditional love but she doesn’t know how to bring it across without being vulnerable and looking needy or clingy. That she wants me to visit her often enough without her inviting me. In my own accord. Because I want to do it. For my part, I don’t want to impose, nor crowd her style. And most important of all, I don’t want to walk on eggshells around her.
Perhaps everything will change the moment she has her own children. Maybe then she will finally understand that not everything you plan for them will happen just way you want it. That love is not perfect. You will make mistake in parenting despite your best intentions. They will not like everything you do and say and you cannot create a model haven for them to grow up fairy tale style. That being a mother is hard. You will get the blame if something bad happen. It is always the mother’s fault.
Maybe it is time for her to grow up too…