I'm Not A Girl Mom

I'm Not A Girl Mom

I’m not. Being Mama to a daughter does not come naturally to me. I wonder why myself, having one girl amongst three sons would seemingly be the necessary accelerant for such a relationship. My mother grew up with four brothers and my dad had just one brother. The historical dynamics of only girls, no family history of sisters, contribute perhaps to the struggle of which I speak. Do I love her enough? Do I hug and kiss her enough? Does she know I struggle with the affection towards her beautiful self?

I hate to say those things, but I must if I am to be a good mother to this girl. A girl mom, not my natural state, but I acknowledge my crevasse so as to encourage the dilution of this natural weakness. Knowledge is power, at least I hope so. I like to think it reminds me that I can do better, be better, overcome my standoffishness and give rise to a more welcoming physical and emotional space for this daughter of mine.

This morning I spent an inordinate amount of time on coaxing her brown locks. She’s grown it quite long and my own hair at that age was boy short and so, that concession to her wishes is just one intentional demonstration of my love. I brushed and brushed as I tried to define a proper part. I fetched two rubber bands from her room upstairs, went back to the kitchen and carefully crafted two braids. Her hair is such a lovely sunset of colors and its silky texture far different than my own coarse locks.

I hugged her and inwardly grinned as she complained about their placement and appearance. Moments later, I saw her head turn and chin tilt up as she stood on tiptoe to admire her reflection in the door glass. No, I’m not a girl mom, but I’m learning and that is enough.

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