My oldest daughter has always been a rough and tumble kid. From the moment she was born, she never stopped moving and jumping. She’s a tomboy and a natural athlete, often times prone to disaster. When I first learned I was pregnant, I honestly thought I was having a boy. I envisioned a large family of boys running through the house. I pictured a miniature version of my husband and his brother. When I learned I was having a girl, my visions quickly changed. I imagined instead, princess dresses and tea parties.
By the time my articulate daughter was a toddler, I knew I had gained the best of both worlds. I had a daughter who was a tomboy. I don’t believe in forcing children to like certain things because of their gender. I believe children need to be allowed to have their own unique differences. My daughter loved running, jumping, playing with trains and hot wheel cars. We bought her a floor trampoline just so she could work off the extra energy.
We would watch her run down the sidewalk at full speed, trip, skin her legs and jump up to continue the race. She even was racing up our cement steps after her cousin when she tripped, face planted into the step and sliced open her forehead. In a panic, we rushed her to urgent care for sutures. She didn’t even cry during the sutures, she just asked the doctor questions about the procedure.
I remember the doctor telling me. “Does she read? Make sure she reads every night! She’s smart!”
A week later, she was jumping on our bed, which she wasn’t supposed to do and she fell off, hitting the back of her head against the wall. She sliced her scalp open and fortunately it didn’t require sutures. Exhausted, I called my mom to vent while questioning my ability as a parent.
My mom just laughed. “You always said you wanted boys…well…you have one!”
At a birthday party for my friend’s daughter, we showed up in a Thomas the Train t-shirt amid a sea of little girls in princess dresses. The theme was candy land and instead of playing with the other girls, my daughter went around their house and systematically popped every balloon they had. She also went running through their house at top speed, tripped and fell through their screen door.
I offered to replace everything, blow up more balloons, fix their decorations and take their screen up to the hardware store. They only laughed and told me how much they love my daughter. They also assured me that the screen was already broken and it was just a matter of time before someone went through it. I was honestly embarrassed….why couldn’t my daughter just wear a dress and play with dolls quietly? I questioned my own parenting abilities. Maybe allowing her to be her own person was backfiring.
Finally, the day came when all of her antics melded together into one momentous, panicking moment. I learned that day how to always roll with disasters. I couldn’t change her but I could choose to embrace the crazy which had seemingly become my life.
My youngest daughter was just a few months old. I was taking baby steps towards independence. I worked up the courage to take both a baby and a toddler to the park. It was a cloudy fall day and the rain was at bay. We walked through the park, my daughter running around while the baby was in a front carrier strapped to my chest. She played on the playground and worked off some of her energy. We then took a walk down to the lake and watched the ducks for a while.
Before we left, we walked the pier and observed the privately owned sea plane. I was pointing out something to the baby when I heard my daughter yelp for help. I turned around to see that she had stuck her head between the railings of the pier. I laughed and attempted to help her free her head. I gently pulled on her but to my horror, her head wouldn’t budge. She was stuck and I mean completely stuck! I don’t know how on earth she managed to get her big round head between those thin metal bars.
She panics and starts to whimper. I’m also panicking and I feel my anxiety start to sky-rocket. I’m not prepared to parent such a wild child like my daughter. I’m an awful parent because no matter what I do, she always ends up in these predicaments! If she makes it to elementary school, it’s going to be a straight up miracle!
The baby starts to cry, she must have felt my distress. I gently work her head up and down, trying to figure out at which point she managed to stick her head through. I think about the baby lotion in my diaper bag. Maybe I could slick her head with lotion and she would slide right through. I start looking towards the shore for help. I need a dad perhaps. To my dismay, all the other families have disappeared.
I feel a few raindrops, the sky growing darker by the minute. I pull my phone out and plan on calling 911. This situation is going to require the Jaws of Life and we’ll make the front page of the local newspaper! I’m already feeling the embarrassment. I feel like a terrible parent.
“Why do you always do these things?” I ask my daughter. “Why does this always happen!’ I cry out.
As I prepare to press send, I see a couple sprinting towards me on the pier. They are rapidly calling out words to me in Spanish. They reach me and within seconds, I realize that they speak absolutely no English. It doesn’t matter though, language has no bearing on a child in trouble. They drop down, this husband and wife, and start assessing the situation. The man run his hands up and down the metal bars while the woman gently checks my daughters head.
The man smiles and says something to his wife in Spanish. She gently pushes my daughters head down to an area of the bars where they happen to be just a bit wider. Her head comes free and we all give a collective sigh of relief. They kneel down before her and examine her head, oblivious to the fact I’m there. I think they were needing as much reassurance as I was. When they conclude that she’s fine, I thank them profusely. They smile and walk away, leaving us just as quickly as they had come.
My daughter just smiles at me and says. “I kinda wanted to see a fire truck!”
I start laughing and reach down to give her a hug. As much as I feel she stresses me out, I wouldn’t change her. She’s amazing and incredible! These disasters she is prone to, cause me grief but they only make her marvel at this adventure we call life. She rolls with every predicament as if they were second nature. She also learns from all of these emergencies. Now that she’s a fourth grader, she’s actually quite cautious and she will rush to the aid of any younger child who she feels is doing something dangerous.
I chose that day, to embrace the crazy! I chose to celebrate her for her uniqueness. I have never tried to change her to fit any mold. I love her for everything she is and the fire that burns so brightly within her, embraces every person around her.
