The relationships between mothers and daughters can be complicated, to say the least.
I don’t think you can fully appreciate your mom until you’re a mom yourself.
To that point, some of us, women, might not realize how much we resent or dislike our own moms until we become moms.
No woman is perfect, so we cannot be expected to be perfect mothers.
“Your kids won’t know you like I do.”
That’s what my daughter said to me when we talked about me having more kids.
I’ve often felt guilt over the relationship between her and I. I was not ready to be a mom when God decided to make me her mommy.
I made mistakes, I was selfish and at times irresponsible.
You could say that I learned what being a “bad” mom is with her and through her. I will be able to offer my future kids something I could not offer her, not because I didn’t want to but because I wasn’t ready, I wasn’t old enough.
So am I a bad mom?
Will she resent me and dislike me for the many mistakes I’ve made or will she appreciate my struggle?
All the things I can offer my future kids, from a present father to bedtime stories my first baby didn’t really have. When she turned 2, I turned 18. I partied in Tijuana and I missed many bed times. When she turned 5, I turned 21. .. and I partied some more.
I missed many morning drop offs.
I didn’t mean to be a bad mom.
I was young.
Maybe that’s an excuse, maybe?
I used to work the night shift at Blockbuster, she would wait for me to come home at 1 am and we would watch movies and then sleep till noon the next day. That was before she started school. She was my little bff but maybe she shouldn’t have been.
Maybe the line of mother and daughter was blurred, if ever drawn.
The relationship we share is unique.
She tells me things she probably shouldn’t and I talk to her in a manner that is probably inappropriate. From saying fuck you when we’re joking around or even when I’m angry to telling her things as if she was my appropriately aged best friend.
We don’t sugar coat our feelings.
I’ve accepted that I made mistakes and I’ve apologized.
She told me one early morning , when she was 6 years old, that she was afraid I wouldn’t come back.
She said, “Mom, you’re the only real parent I have”
I feel guilty for the things that were out of my control and for the things that were in my control.
I wanted to give her a family but I chose wrong, I made bad decisions.
When we talk about her having siblings we joke about how they’re going to call her tia because she’ll be so much older.
She says she doesn’t care that I’ll be a “real mom” to them because they’ll never know me the way she does.
She knows the real me, the woman version of Mom that your kids aren’t supposed to be able to relate to until they’re much older.
She has a piece of me, forever, that no one can take from her.