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Broke Wife, Big City
Sorry not sorry
By Aprill Brandon
One day, not long ago, my daughter went down a slide and rammed right
into the back of an older child who had gone down the slide before her.
It really hurt, the boy was quick to tell me, and my daughter should
probably apologize for it. I agreed and turned to her, saying “Mae, can
you say you’re sorry?”
Her response? To stare defiantly at both of us. She stared so long, in
fact, that it got down right uncomfortable. So, feeling the need to
avoid confrontation at all costs like the good born-and-bred
midwesterner that I am, I told the boy, “she’s pretty young, she
probably doesn’t understand, but I’m sure she’s very sorry.”
The incident was soon forgotten by the kids and they went back to
playing because, ah, youth. But it stayed with me. This wasn’t the
first time she had reacted this way when asked to apologize for
something. It was then that I realized that my 2-year-old daughter
refuses to say she’s sorry. For anything.
And part of me doesn’t want that to change.
Last week for dinner, we had spaghetti and meatballs. Every morning
since then, whenever I ask her what she wants for breakfast, she yells
“MEATBALLS!”
“Meatballs? Really?” I respond.
“All the meatballs, Momma.”
I don’t want this to change either.
Now that my kids are two and four, life has pretty much devolved into
one long WWE match occasionally interrupted by baths and trips to the
library. When her brother hits her, my daughter does a feral growl and
hits him right back. When they argue, she doesn’t back down. When he
gets angry, she doesn’t demur or try to smooth over the volatile
situation. If someone is pushing her or pulling her or tickling her in
a way she doesn’t like, she loudly screams “NO!” and “STOP!”
Minus the hitting, I hope to God none of that ever changes.
At 2-years-old, she cares nothing for your opinion. Or mine. At
2-years-old, there is no piece of furniture, no piece of playground
equipment, no object in nature (including large, slow-moving animals)
that is too high to climb and conquer and then jump off of. If it were
up to her, she’d be naked all the time. Because at 2-years-old, her
body is her own wonderland.
As her mother, this is all pretty exhausting to deal with on a
day-to-day basis. As a woman, however, it’s exhilarating to watch.
All too soon, despite my best interventions, the world is likely to
teach her that she needs to change these things about herself. That she
should apologize for taking up space. For getting angry. For even
daring to have an opinion.
The world will start whispering to her that her body is not her own
anymore. That those mountains are not hers to climb and conquer
anymore. That being pretty and nice is better than being loud and
fearless and strong and curious.
That yogurt is an acceptable breakfast. Not huge chunks of meat.
Then again, maybe not. Because I’m watching. I’m taking notes. My young
daughter is teaching me how to be a female in this world, the kind of
female I want to be. And my hope is that I learn enough so that I can
return the favor. That when she’s a young woman and the world is trying
to crush her into some shape, some role, she doesn’t fit into, I’ll be
there to remind her who she really is.
And then when some poor soul makes the mistake of telling her “stop
being so bossy” or “hey, smile!” or “you know, you could be prettier if
only you’d…” she laughs so hard in their face that she almost chokes on
her breakfast meatball hoagie.
Can’t get enough of Aprill? Can’t wait until next week?
Check out her website at http://aprillbrandon.com/
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