Although my daughter came shooting out of my womb, proving she is indeed mine, my first words were, “Where did she come from?” My son is a blend of my ex-husband and me, so I never doubted his origins. But my daughter has always been unique in her independence and confidence. Rather than questioning her origins, I now say, “My daughter is mostly herself and partly who I’m becoming.”
At six months of age she kicked me out of the bed. Literally, her little feet nudged, nudged, nudged me until I was on the floor. Once she had the bed to herself, she returned to her peaceful sleeping ways. At nine years old, my son would still love to sleep with me.
She can be rascally, but mostly she is a free, joyful spirit. She’ll spend an hour collecting “treasures” outside (anything from flower petals to old twist ties) and place zen-like arrangements of these treasures all over the house. Unfortunately, I often take advantage of her independent nature and check emails, work or otherwise take care of business while she entertains herself. But recently, I’ve been aware that my days of having my kids want to be with me may be limited, so I better enjoy it while I can.
Fondly remembering the days that I had with my daughter while her brother was at school, I scheduled a girl date with her. It coincided perfectly with the first spring like, 60 degree day of the year. After a mediocre lunch at Hales (the food sucked, but the company was exquisite) I took her swimming. I am not a sports person and could care less if my children ever hit a baseball or score a goal, but I do believe learning how to swim and ride a bike are two childhood rites of passages not to be missed.
My daughter is not afraid of the water, but she bobs and plays rather than showing any interest in actually swimming. Being independent, I knew that if I pushed my own agenda on her, we wouldn’t get anywhere. Instead, I implemented bribery with peer pressure. “You know your cousins can swim and it would be really fun if the next time we got together with them all of you could swim together.” She shook her head in a “Sure mom” kind of way, so I upped the ante. “I’m going to book a trip for us over midwinter break at a hotel with a pool. Wouldn’t it be great if you could swim with your brother and me by then?” Again, the head nod. But I knew a seed was planted and that pride would soon motivate her to not be the only person in the family who couldn’t swim.
We arrived at the pool and she splashed and danced around the shallow end. She practiced her kicks while holding on to the side and then I said, “Let’s see if you can swim to my hand.” I assumed she would doggy paddle the mere foot to my hand, but to my surprise, she placed her face in the water and actually swam to me. “You’re swimming!” I cheered and hugged her. “I can’t believe it, you just swam to me.” Tears filled my eyes as I watched my daughter fearlessly swim to me over and over again. I took a picture of her swimming and texted it to my boyfriend and her dad. She beamed with joy and we spent the next hour with her backing further and further from my hand in order to swim to me. Once she had that mastered, she wanted to float on her back. Then she floated on her belly. All of which was met with cheers, tears, and many congratulatory high-fives and hugs.
Once our time was up in the pool we continued our celebratory date by going to the park. We wanted to enjoy the sunshine as well as another of her recent accomplishments, learning how to pump herself on the swings. We saw her brother on the playground with his friend and ran up to him to tell him the news. I paused for a moment, worried that he would be jealous of our date and therefore not be able to properly congratulate his sister. Her pride and joy emanated so strongly that he forgot about his usual competition over attention and said, “Wow! You really swam? That’s great.”
Everywhere we went that day, we celebrated her and her accomplishment. We shared the news with friends and neighbors, had root beer floats, and in general spoke of little else. I flashed back to my own morning triumph of learning that my ebook was ranked as the top-selling book in the motherhood and pregnancy sections on Amazon. Upon seeing this ranking, I cheered and did a little “I’m so cool” dance. I emailed five people the news, and thanked all of them for their help in making this happen. And then I moved on to writing an article. The entire celebration lasted four minutes and included 5 other people. If you can say an email is actually including other people, which is a stretch.
My daughter and I were going on five hours of celebrating and had shared the news with over twenty people in person. Why wasn’t I including myself in the celebration? Why is it if something goes wrong or I’m upset, I’ll pick up the phone instantly, but I think sharing my good news is bragging and that no one wants to hear it? If my boyfriend and I have a disagreement, I’ll call three friends to discuss it. But whenever I start to explain how good things are between us and how much I appreciate him, I feel as if I’ve lost my friend’s attention. So now, I hardly bother talking about our relationship. Recently, I admitted to another writer that all of my columns were about issues that I was working on. “I never write about the good days, no one wants to hear about that.” I laughed, but was serious, and she nodded in agreement.
Yes, writing and talking about issues helps me work through them. And yes, I think it helps others to not feel alone if they too have struggled with a similar issue. But I learned from my daughter’s “celebrate me” day that it’s important to share my good days and successes as well. While cheering her swimming success at dinner, I added my book sales story to the celebratory list as well. “That’s great mama,” my son said in his ever polite, even if he has no idea what I’m talking about, way. Once they scampered off to watch their celebratory movie, I called my boyfriend and said, “I want to be congratulated about my book. Celebrate me.”
I didn’t whither afterwards. In fact, it felt good to ask for it and even better to receive it.
Corbin Lewarsis the author of Creating a Life: The memoir of a writer and mom in the making, which was nominated for the 2011 PNBA and Washington State book awards and is now available via ebook. Her essays have been featured in over twenty-five publications including Mothering and Hip Mama. She teaches writing and coaches other writers on-line, via the phone and in person in Ballard.
