Dandelion baby: My Mother's Day Reflection
I was standing in a long, long line at the airport, on the way to a girls' trip to Prague, when my former roommate Gretchen noticed a family of dandelion-haired little girls a few serpentines ahead of us. "That's what your kids will look like," she said.
That's certainly how I looked as a kid--white-blonde hair in all directions--but that's not how my kids would look. I was dating my future fiance, my future husband, my future baby-daddy at the time, and Krystian is Puerto Rican, with thick, black wavy hair. "Is it racist," I asked Gretchen as the line dragged on, "that I'm a little sad that my kids won't look just like me?"
Five years later, and I have a non-theoretical daughter, who doesn't look just like me (and, for that matter, doesn't look exactly like Krystian, either) and I'm extremely grateful for it. There's nothing wrong with little blondies, but let me explain why having a daughter who doesn't look just like me has taken me on a philosophical journey into motherhood itself.
When I was buying baby clothes, I bought a lot of grey. Partially because grey is cool, but also because I look great in grey. And black. And pale blue. But when I put the little Lulu loaf in those grey clothes, they did not look great on her. Because she doesn't look just like me. She looks great, I came to find out, in other colors, some colors I can't pull off, like tangerine, white, and her signature color, mustard.
This superficial realization, that Lucia looks good in yellow, while I look good in grey, creates a healthy distinction: Lucia is not just a little Mary.
When I found out I was pregnant with a girl, I thought of all my friends who have deep-rooted issues with their mothers (Not me.), and spent a few hours digging into why the daughter-mother relationship can be so tricky. A big part of it keeps coming back to that important distinction that mothers and daughters are different people with different interests and strengths.
Lucia may some day have interests that have never crossed my mind before, like chess, softball, or hair-styling. She may even have interests that absolutely flummox me. Devorah Blachor and Peggy Orenstein each have their own insightful (and funny) books about having their preschool daughters inexplicably get swallowed up in princess culture, despite their being careful feminists. These books are addressing a very specific kind of difference, but I think it applies to the bigger issues: What are the things you want to enforce and what differences are you comfortable allowing?
Both Blachor and Orenstein come to a similar conclusion: let the superficials be what they will, but focus on instilling the core values that matter to you--she can get into chess, softball or hairstyling, but I hope she is kind, diligent, and honest in whatever her interests are.
That's certainly how I looked as a kid--white-blonde hair in all directions--but that's not how my kids would look. I was dating my future fiance, my future husband, my future baby-daddy at the time, and Krystian is Puerto Rican, with thick, black wavy hair. "Is it racist," I asked Gretchen as the line dragged on, "that I'm a little sad that my kids won't look just like me?"
Five years later, and I have a non-theoretical daughter, who doesn't look just like me (and, for that matter, doesn't look exactly like Krystian, either) and I'm extremely grateful for it. There's nothing wrong with little blondies, but let me explain why having a daughter who doesn't look just like me has taken me on a philosophical journey into motherhood itself.
When I was buying baby clothes, I bought a lot of grey. Partially because grey is cool, but also because I look great in grey. And black. And pale blue. But when I put the little Lulu loaf in those grey clothes, they did not look great on her. Because she doesn't look just like me. She looks great, I came to find out, in other colors, some colors I can't pull off, like tangerine, white, and her signature color, mustard.
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| Turns out she is a dandelion girl, after all. |
This superficial realization, that Lucia looks good in yellow, while I look good in grey, creates a healthy distinction: Lucia is not just a little Mary.
When I found out I was pregnant with a girl, I thought of all my friends who have deep-rooted issues with their mothers (Not me.), and spent a few hours digging into why the daughter-mother relationship can be so tricky. A big part of it keeps coming back to that important distinction that mothers and daughters are different people with different interests and strengths.
Lucia may some day have interests that have never crossed my mind before, like chess, softball, or hair-styling. She may even have interests that absolutely flummox me. Devorah Blachor and Peggy Orenstein each have their own insightful (and funny) books about having their preschool daughters inexplicably get swallowed up in princess culture, despite their being careful feminists. These books are addressing a very specific kind of difference, but I think it applies to the bigger issues: What are the things you want to enforce and what differences are you comfortable allowing?
Both Blachor and Orenstein come to a similar conclusion: let the superficials be what they will, but focus on instilling the core values that matter to you--she can get into chess, softball or hairstyling, but I hope she is kind, diligent, and honest in whatever her interests are.
Comments
In my ninth month of pregnancy, it occurred to me for a small moment that my daughter might have light hair and blue eyes like her dad..."nah!" I immediately thought. Brown is dominant, right? 4 blond haired blue eyed kids later... sometimes people don't know they are mine. But what you said reminds me of something I needed reminding of-- not over-identifying with your child. And part of that is not counting my worth or success as a parent in having a child that does __________________. Holding still during church (or anytime really), being polite (or at least not terribly awkward), etc. That's the real parent trap.