Family
The Thing No One Tells You About Daughters
Every new chapter brings its own magic.
Mel Haasch (Getty Images, 3)
I’ve been thinking about my relationship with my daughter over the years, and in retrospect, it seems to have been a series of magical “I wish things could stay this way forever” moments (interrupted only occasionally by “I can’t wait for this phase to end!”).
For instance, I remember being nine months pregnant and thinking that I’d become so accustomed to this portable bean growing inside me that I would like it to stay that way forever.
When she was an infant, as delicate as she was and as scared as I was to be in charge of this precious package, I loved the quiet (and not-so-quiet) moments when all I had to do was sit and stare at her. I wanted it to stay that way.
The trend continued through toddlerhood, followed by that delightful period leading up to preschool, when I had this very talkative, curious, joy-filled mini-adult all to myself. Couldn’t it just stay that way?
Even middle school, with its mean girls right out of central casting and awkward first stirrings of romance, was a period I wanted to prolong indefinitely. I relished witnessing her make her first friendships, experiment with new interests and watch her vocabulary grow exponentially. Can’t it just stay that way?
As parents experiencing this metamorphosis, we know we can’t freeze time, but you’d have to be crazy not to wish you could. Think about it: You have a child who adores you and whom you worship; all the possibilities lie ahead, all the dreams have yet to be chased.
The sleepovers, the face masks, the manicures and pedicures, the lopsided, glue-encrusted Christmas ornaments we were so proud of, the crude but adorable poems, the silent cozying up. Why, oh, why can’t it stay that way?
Of course, you realize that if it did stay that way, you’d be deprived of each successive phase, but that doesn’t stop you from wishing it would.
As the years passed, the poems got so good that she ended up majoring in poetry, and we grew ever closer, to the point where we became best friends. This is what every mother hopes for — watching her toddler go from what she views as an irresistible doll to dress up and show off to the world, to a young woman with big enough shoulders for a mother to cry on.
Get the Must-Read Newsletter for Older Women
Sign up for the free, weekly newsletter with the latest stories, expert advice, community updates, and more.
My daughter has always been fiercely protective of me, and as she began to understand the full extent of what the world can throw at a person, that need to protect me only got stronger. She is 28 now, working hard and living her beautiful, messy life. And I’m privileged to continue sharing in it because she lives only blocks away.
We are each other’s therapists, talking animatedly into the wee hours on those sleepover nights with my husband exiled to the guest bedroom. We take mother-daughter vacations when our schedules permit. We support one another in every way possible, as true friends do, and yes, we have arguments, but they come and go like a flash flood. There is never any lingering ill feeling because we both know we’re only raising our voices because we care so much.
No agendas, just wanting the other to be okay. And yet, although we are best friends in the truest sense of the term, she is still a daughter who sometimes makes questionable choices, and I am still a mother who is consumed with worry when that happens.
I’m still wishing it could stay this way because she’s mature but not married yet, so it’s reminiscent of that glorious phase between toddlerhood and heading off to school for the first time. The difference is we’re both adults now and can appreciate each other more deeply than ever before.
She writes me the most exquisite poems (“The weight of the world tangled up in her hair…”). Together we can look back on the highs and lows of her upbringing with a well-earned equanimity and shared nostalgic yearning. We will dissolve into knowing laughter while remembering some of the challenges she presented, as well as some of my less successful attempts at parenting. Why can’t it stay this way?
But now that I’m well stricken in years, to borrow Shakespeare’s phrase, there is an added dimension to the wish. At this point it’s not just about preserving magical moments. It’s also about wishing I could stop aging (actually, if I’m going to make a fantastical wish, let’s move the clock back 10 years and freeze it there). The circle of life is moving toward the next stage, and I can see on the horizon the day our roles reverse and she becomes the caretaker.
So yes, I really, really, really wish things could stay this way. But if I’d gotten my wish at any point along the way, I would have missed everything that came next.
How many of you have a daughter? Let us know in the comments below.
More From The Ethel
More for you, from AARP
We are a community from AARP. Discover more ways AARP can help you live well, navigate life, save money — and protect older Americans on issues that matter.