Dear Counselor,
Recently, my daughter Isabelle shared a charming thought: she believes that God gave her one dimple to hold onto my kisses. At just 5 years old, she frequently amazes me with her innocent and adorable observations. Her older brother, Max, now 8, impresses me with his insightful viewpoints, showcasing the different ways children express themselves at various ages. While Max captures my heart with wisdom, Isabelle captivates me with her endless cuteness, filled with rainbows, sparkles, and imaginative spaces for storing love.
This morning, Isabelle inquired about her father’s return from a work trip. “Mommy,” she asked, “when is Daddy coming back from Your Ami?” I gently corrected her, “Actually, sweetheart, he’s in Miami.” With a mischievous grin, she replied, “That’s what I said, Mommy. Your Ami.”
However, I recognize that as time passes, our relationship may not always remain as sweet. Mothers of preteens and teens often remind me to “just wait.” They say, “Just wait until cute turns into eye-rolling.” Already, Isabelle has expressed frustration with me, declaring, “Mom, you are the worst person ever,” after I couldn’t retrieve her water bottle while driving. Yes, her words sting, but I remind myself that at 5, she is still learning and growing, even when she mispronounces “disgusting” as “gisdusting.”
Mothers often bear the weight of children’s outbursts, whether from exhaustion, jealousy, or hunger. We endure the accusations of being “stupid” when we are, in fact, correct. Yet, we remind ourselves that this phase is temporary and that we still receive love and affection from our little ones.
As I think ahead, I acknowledge that Isabelle may eventually seek therapy. Growing up in Los Angeles, where mental health professionals are abundant, and being part of a culture where seeking help is normalized, I assume she will have a therapist. This notion doesn’t trouble me; I value the support that therapy can offer. My concern, however, is that she might spend much of her time discussing me.
What keeps me awake at night is the thought that she might interpret my shortcomings as reflections of her worth. I aim to guide her in not taking things personally. Therefore, if she ever sits on your couch feeling unloved due to my occasional forgetfulness, I ask that you kindly remind her of the countless Chuck E. Cheese outings I endured for her happiness.
There are moments that kids simply don’t remember, like the sleepless nights I spent assisting with school projects or the lengths I went to ensure her favorite shirt was clean on time. They often recall only the times I slipped up, such as forgetting dinner.
Moreover, I hope you can share with her my love demonstrated through the Lego sets we built together. For instance, when I helped Isabelle with her Lego Friends Pop Star Tour Bus, it took us weeks to assemble. Her frustration was palpable, but ultimately, I completed the project for her, not for a momentary thrill, but to foster long-term happiness and self-acceptance.
When Isabelle questions my love due to my occasional oversights, please remind her that I’ve braved Chuck E. Cheese’s and even faced my fears for her delight. My affection for her is boundless, even if it doesn’t always manifest in perfect parenting moments.
So, dear Counselor, please reassure her that she is deeply loved, even in my imperfect expressions of care. Life will be okay, and she will navigate through her challenges. And, remind her that one day, she may find herself in a similar position as a mother, navigating her own parenting journey.
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In summary, my hope is for Isabelle to grow up knowing the depth of my love, despite my occasional mistakes. I want her to embrace herself, and I trust that you will guide her in this journey.