I Am Not The Momma I Was Gonna Be

When I was pregnant with the Supergirl, I had plans and certainties about who I would be as a parent and who my child would be. I was never going to yell or spank, I wouldn’t need to. My child would see the hurt and disappointment in my eyes and quickly plead for salvation before I would ever need to discipline.

Until I learned that she could give two flying fudgsicles about my hurt or disappointment, until I discovered that her idea of fun with mommy was the art of trying to find every possible way to die from ages 2-4. Run away from mommy in parking lot? Check. Dive face first off of the kitchen counter? Check.

It’s a miracle that we have made it this far, honestly.

My child would not need to know about her family’s financial situation, we would have more than enough. Until we didn’t. I hate that she knows that she can’t have a slushy because the fountain drinks are 67 cents cheaper. I hate that she worries about whether or not the land baron has been paid. To be fair, it’s more a case of her being insanely smart than us informing her of the situation, I just hate that at 5 years old she has this much of a grasp on a situation that I still wonder if I understand.

My child would not know about cancer, would not need to know about death and dying. Except she does and no matter how much I pray for the knowledge to be forgotten, it doesn’t. At 5 years old, my child has become the morbid, strange child that talks of dying, of ghosts, of zombies, of terminal illnesses and chemotherapy, the child that makes grown ups uncomfortable.

I want to rail against this reality, scream and fight and kick to get back the dream of the child and the parent that we were supposed to be.

I want to, but I can’t and I won’t.

I am not the mother that I wanted to be, but I am a pretty kick ass momma.

My kid watches cartoons from the 80’s , sometimes wears the same set of pajamas all weekends, is cool when I forget to buy milk and all I have to offer is a Pebbles Ice Cream Sundae for breakfast before church. She loves God and Jesus and leads other children to them, her faith is contagious and so awesome. Her sense of humor and sarcasm, though sometimes flawed, are still pretty great. I know adults with a lot less personality than my girl has. She quotes Grease and Wizard of Oz, and you should see that girl rocking out to some Michael Jackson.

And I like to think that I take some credit for all of that.