My 4-year-old daughter looks at me with a frown and says, “Mom, I didn’t win the princess contest. Bella and Mia did. I lost.” Bella and Mia are her imaginary friends, figures crafted from her own imagination, and in this whimsical game, she lost to characters that don’t even exist.
This moment encapsulates my ongoing struggle: my difficulty in connecting with her. I grew up as a tomboy, opting for jeans and t-shirts from the moment I could pick my own clothes. While my peers played with Barbies, I was engrossed in adventures with Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles. Sundays were spent cheering for the Dallas Cowboys alongside my parents, while other girls were out shopping. My childhood mindset was far from the typical feminine mold.
In stark contrast, my daughter embodies every stereotype of a little girl. Pink is her absolute favorite, and she’d don princess dresses every day if I allowed it. Her imaginative games overflow with drama and sparkle, and when she throws a tantrum, her theatrical flair could earn her an Oscar — or maybe several.
She personifies everything I’m not, making it challenging to find common ground. I often worry that I don’t truly understand her, nor she me. I make an effort to listen intently to her stories about the queen’s latest escapades, how beautiful her hair looks, and the way her dress glimmers in her tales. I cheer enthusiastically when she twirls in her tiara and matching jewelry, even facilitating playful disputes with Bella and Mia while suppressing my eye-rolls at the absurdity.
What complicates matters further is the amazing bond I share with my 3-year-old son, Max. We engage in block-building, wrestling matches, and racing cars, and it’s clear we understand each other. I often tell myself this connection stems from having carried him for those nine months.
Yet, this doesn’t alleviate the guilt and fear that often consume me. I feel guilty for not connecting with my daughter, guilty for not trying hard enough, and guilty for feeling like I’m failing to understand my own child. The fear is even more daunting — the fear that our relationship may always be this distant, that I’ll never be as close to her as I wish, and that we’ll lack the strong bond often depicted in movies.
Deep down, I recognize that she is just four years old. She will grow, evolve, and explore a multitude of interests. I hold onto the hope that one day we’ll share a deeper understanding, perhaps chatting over coffee, laughing together, and appreciating the woman sitting across from me.
But for today, I will cuddle with her. I’ll wrap her in my arms, kiss the top of her head, and sing the song I created for her when she was a baby. I’ll hold her tightly and remind myself that she shares half of my DNA, which gives me hope and love. As any parent knows, sometimes that’s all you can cling to.
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Summary
The author shares her struggle to connect with her daughter, who embodies traditional femininity, while she identifies as a tomboy. Despite her efforts to engage with her daughter’s interests, she grapples with feelings of guilt and fear about their relationship. However, she finds solace in the hope that they will grow closer as time goes on.
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