Plucking the Petals of Daisies

If you have a daughter, you know all too well her mood can change with fleeting regularity. And you may also be surprised at how early an age the emotional roller coaster can take a plunge.  I know I was.  In our household, that age was two.  My husband and I did a “What the…?” as our little darling, a shrieking carmel-haired blur, ran from one end of the house to the other spurred by an unknown insult, only to emerge seconds later in a strangely calm trance, blankie in hand.

At the time, her display was darn funny.  It still is, but in a how-I-wish-I-knew-then-what-I-know-now kind of way.  Nearly age eight, my youngest can turn her emotional status on a dime with little effort.  It’s like a game of “She Loves Me, She Loves Me Not.” One minute she is sweetly cuddling with me on the couch, the next she is a sassy, screaming mess concluding her rant with an “I hate you!!!!”

At times like these I repeat my mini-lecture on respect and put her in time out.  Then I wonder, if this is my daughter’s behavior now, what can I expect when she becomes a hormone-inflicted teenager?  What I do know is that I need to form a much, much thicker skin because her comments, eye rolls and protruding lower lip maneuvers hurt like heck.  Even though I know the source of her angst isn’t truly me (at least I hope not) but is fueled by fatigue, hunger, overstimulation, or any combination of those possibilities.  However, when her life becomes less about dolls and pink and pierced ears and more about boys and social media and pierced God-knows-what I honestly wonder how either of us is going to cope.

Recently we were boarding an airplane to come home from vacation.  In the airport terminal my little girl was being quite a handful.  Given the confines of a small jet, a scolding and a consequence were going to have to wait until we were buckled in.  While sorting out our seat assignments, and before my daughter could switch places with my son, the passenger assigned to the aisle seat next to my daughter sat down.  She was then separated from me by this gentleman and the center aisle and immediately went into silent (read:  serious) crisis mode.  Her eyes became puffy and red, her hands white-knuckled as she clutched her doll and blanket to her face.  Of course, no one argued with a small game of musical seat assignments and my daughter calmed immediately when she acquired the window seat next to me.

Those few moments on the airplane really say it all.  No matter what hurtful actions or words she chooses, nothing really changes about how my daughter feels about Mom’s place in her life.  I am reminded that for the here and now, I can quell challenging behaviors by addressing her needs and affirming her feelings and then she is back to her usual sweet self.  Teen angst will certainly be more challenging and the “I wish I had never been born!” comments will certainly become daily occurrences, but I know she will still find mom a safe haven, a protector, and one of a select few for whom she can lay it all on the table without judgement.  She won’t openly acknowledge my importance in her life but she will know my unconditional love will always be waiting for her.  That I will lay on the table for her.