Somewhere My Mother is Laughing

"Someday I hope you have a daughter just like you." When my mother said this to me as a young girl, I didn't really understand her point. I was a great daughter. I got good grades; I didn't get in trouble at school; I never got busted for shoplifting like my siblings; and I didn't smoke, do drugs, or drink. I was a great child. Just ask me. I'd love to have a daughter like me.

Fast forward to around, oh, now. My mother, God rest her soul, died of breast cancer in 2001. The Girl was just shy of 18 months. Her personality was not yet fully developed and my mother never got a chance to know her. But somewhere, my mother is laughing - at me.

The Girl and I are not much alike. She is blond and blue-eyed, I am brunette (well, I was) and green-eyed. She is outgoing and popular in a way I still am not. She makes friends easily and has several good friends. I take a long time to get close to people, and even to this day have only a few close friends. She is girly - if it's pink, purple, or sparkly she wants it. I'm more practical, if not tomboyish (I have one skirt and the day I wore it to work folks were checking for signs of the Apocalypse). She wants to be a cheerleader. I thought cheerleaders were bimbos. She takes dance lessons, wants to study pointe, and is pretty graceful. I have all the grace of the bird they call the elephant. She is stubborn, determined to get her own way, and pretty vocal when she doesn't. I am...

Okay, you've got me on that one.

In that one sense, The Girl and I are exactly alike. And that one similarity is the cause of many an upward pleading, "Why me?" I was once relating a story to my father highlighting this sharp wit, caustic tone, and stubborn determination to do it her way. My father was no help. "Why, you don't say. Gee, I've never known a little girl to do that before," was his response, delivered in this fake disbelieving tone. Okay, Dad; I get the point.

At seven years old, her vocabulary is astounding. And her ability to argue is impressive. "Mom," she huffs (usually I'm "mama" unless she's getting mad), "that's not the point. You are actually not even listening." And downward it goes. "Well, Mom, it's like this. I have a style, and you are getting in the way." Well pardon the hell out of me.

She even acts like me. I certainly did not teach her that huff of breath, roll of the eyes, and toss of the long hair as she storms up the stairs. I didn't even have hair long enough to toss by the time she was born. But she does it, exactly like I did. Must be in the genetic code.

I really should have seen this coming years ago. When she was four, I tried to get her to buy this cute pair of hiking boots at the store. Brown suede with Winnie the Pooh and Tigger on them. "I don't like those, I like these." But these are really cute. "No." Are you sure? "No." How can you not want these, they are so cute! "No." I tried for 10 minutes to talk her into the shoes. We left with the ones she picked out. To this day when I try to talk her into something, The Hubby will look at me and say, "Are you sure you don't want these Winnie the Pooh shoes?" I usually shut up around that point - or I tell him to shut up.

There are days when I sit down after bedtime and think, "My god, if she's like this at seven, what will she be like as a teenager?" It's a scary thought. You see, if she's so like me at seven, there's a good chance she'll be like me as a teen. And despite what I thought of myself at the time, maturity forces me to admit that I was a smart-mouth bratty teen. Because not only was I the only kid to never get busted for shoplifting, I was the only kid my mother ever smacked across the mouth in public (you know, back in the day when doing that didn't land you in jail). If The Girl turns out like I did at the same age, I'd better stock up on the L'Oreal Feria and the rum. Hitting in public is rather verboten.

As I go through these almost daily battles, I remind myself there is a bright side. My girl knows her own mind. Peers will have a hard time pressuring her to go along with stupid ideas like cigarettes and drugs. She has very firm ideas about those things. I'm sure she'll do her share of "what on earth were you thinking" acts, but I'm equally sure they will all be her own idea. She is confident in herself as I never was in school. She will be the popular girl, the one at the center of things, although I've seen enough of her heart to know she will be that rare gem - the popular kid who is kind to everyone, even the kids the "in crowd" would keep out. She'll face the world on her own terms, knowing she's just as good as everyone else, and hopefully she will avoid the self-esteem problems that plagued me well into adulthood.

So every time we have one of these run-ins that set my teeth on edge, I remind myself that there is a silver lining. That in the long run, her independence and stubborn attitude will be more of a help than a hindrance (when exercised in moderation, of course). Besides, I also know that someday I will have the ultimate revenge.

Someday, she will have a daughter - just like her.