Maybe God got it wrong. I'm a heretic, I know. But maybe God got it wrong when I got daughters. Now don't misunderstand me, I LOVE my girls. I mean, I really really love them. Last night as I was nursing Pearl to sleep, I was relishing in the moment, knowing that as she is getting close to a year old these nights are getting fewer and and farther between. I can be gone and away from her for longer periods of time because nursing isn't necessary anymore. It's more like bonus time. Anyway, I was nursing her and also waiting for her to fall asleep so I could go tuck the Princess into bed. She was lying there waiting for me, but apparently the wait got long. She was asleep when I finally got there. I turned her light off, stood on the edge of Godzilla's bed and peeked up into the top bunk. Thankfully she was close to the edge. Then I did what every mother is told to never do - - I tried to wake my sleeping "baby." It didn't work so well, but that's OK because I got one of my favorite sights - - that half sleeping and awake purely blissful smile. Love it. Absolutely love it.
Fast-forward about 11 hours and I can't even believe it's the same girl. This is when I think maybe God mixed up the order at the baby assembly line. It was breakfast time and we had gotten there a little later than I intended. There wasn't time to make the scrambled eggs LadyPrincess requested. I talked her into oatmeal and proceeded to make it. When I placed that piping hot bowl of apple cinnamon goodness in front of her all hell broke loose. I kid you not. I couldn't kid you if I wanted to because I never would have thought to make up a story where the little girl FREAKS out about the oatmeal. She wanted to open the packet and pour it in the bowl. Really. That's all. That's what I messed up. I ripped open the little paper packet and poured it in the bowl.
Drama ensued. There's was stomping of feet, slamming of doors, tears, lots of tears, screaming into a pillow, and a refusal to eat the oatmeal. Holy cow. Are you sure, God? This is what you thought I could handle?
If my mom new about my blog I'm sure she'd be cracking up right now because I am fully aware that this bugs me because I did the exact. same. thing. as a child. OK, not about oatmeal because we didn't eat oatmeal, but about anything, everything else. In fact, I remember these own irrational, emotional tantrums of my own which is exactly why I was sure God would only give me boys. Again, not that I don't like girls, just that I couldn't imagine that many emotions in one house at the same time.
I am well aware that this is just the beginning and all you well-meaning moms of teenage or older girls, please don't fall prey to the urge to tell me this is nothing compared to what is coming. I know that, and if no one else has ever told you this, hear it from me - - saying that to another mom of younger kids doesn't sound nearly as helpful and compassionate to us as it does to you.
I sent the girl off to school still completely unresolved about her oatmeal. I had given lots of hugs, let her cry on my shoulder and in my arms, but eventually she had to go. She was still crying as she walked down the front stairs of our yard. I had asked her what was really going on, what was making her sad in her heart, why was she feeling so angry. She couldn't articulate anything other than the oatmeal. A friend of mine said this morning, "Sometimes it is just about the oatmeal!" Maybe she's missing Godzilla. I don't know. I hope she's having a better day even right this second. I don't like to see her so sad, and, well, frankly, I don't know if I can handle it if she comes home still that upset.
Love my girls to death. Really I do. I LOVE them like I never knew I could, but sometimes I wonder if maybe God forgot I was supposed to get boys.