The Girl

I don’t often get overly emotional when watching TV, films and You Tube cat videos, that sort of stuff. But there are a couple of occasions where I have felt the face sting and had to do a big sniff to avoid actual crying in front of anyone over a soppy moment.

I can perhaps narrow these moments down to two occasions. The first being when Moana’s Grandmother dies and swims off with the big fish. The second completely random moment that has me sniffling is when Violet in the Incredibles saves the family with her super powerful shield and Mrs Incredible/Elastigirl looks over and says “that’s my girl”. Even writing about it has my face scrunching up and yes I understand that both of these eye watering moments are animations, but that’s doesn’t mean they’re not emotional. There is just something about these moments that makes me want to cry and I’m pretty sure it only started happening after the Girl came along.

The Girl is unique to me, to our family.  She is inspirational and I often wonder if we all started out like her and just lost it along the way with life, money, work and age all contributing to dampen the flame. But the Girl has super lizard grip and super Gecko muscles (PJ Masks of course) and she keeps going. She has her own style and she isn’t afraid to be who she wants to be.  She has health conditions but sometimes you’d be forgiven in thinking she didn’t get the memo because she is strong and feisty and she can hold her own. 

I look at her and feel overwhelming love, worry and panic in equal measures. I love her and everything about her even if she does challenge us at every bedtime, meal time and every moment of every day all of the time. I worry about what sort of future she will have with her health and I panic that she will eventually hate me.

The Girl is an individual, she will wear her brother’s clothes and then put her fairy wings on the top.  She’ll whisper to her teacher, with a cheeky little giggle, that she’s wearing his underpants too.

She woos her Grandparents and has Grandad wrapped around her finger and she impresses Grandpa by wearing her football kit with her Elsa shoes to ride her bike.  She puts colors in her hair with those little mascara brushes but she hasn’t let me brush the bird’s nest for the past 2 years. 

She loves the bath and will use it to go for a swim and she’ll flood the bathroom, look me in the eye, smile and tell me it wasn’t her.   

She can’t run far but she’ll run until she can’t. She is the only child in her class who goes to school with 50 layers, a scarf, gloves and hat because she needs to protect her chest even though it’s 18 degrees outside, but she will just get on with it. 

When she was only two she had a lengthy stay in hospital following a bronchoscopy which made her very poorly.  She didn’t bat an eyelid when the doctors inserted drips in her arms, she happily carried out all the lung exercises expected of her and she climbed on to the CT machine and underwent her scan without being sedated.  All because she is a trouper.   

She will try new things and has no fear and she will give her brothers as good as she gets and more.

She’ll sweep the floor after lunch to get all the bits up so I don’t have to and she will sneak a bit of her chocolate to her baby brother so he’s not left out. She’s the type that would give you her last Rolo. 

She’s moody (for a four year old) and tough and thoughtful and stubborn.  She is strong in more ways than one, she’s overcome illness, hospital stays and constant prodding by doctors, all with a smile.  She fights so hard, but she’s vulnerable and she scares me the most.  She’s the reason we are locked up for 12 weeks and probably a lot longer.   

I love it all, I love all of this about her and I want my daughter to continue to be strong.  I want her to break free of expectations.  I don’t want her to think she is the only one in her household who can do the washing, the housework and all the crappy jobs at the expense of herself, of her being free and experiencing everything she wants in the world.  I want her to figure out who she is meant to be and say fuck it and just do it. I don’t want her to be sorry for who she is.  I want to watch her grow and learn and be free and I want to warn the world that she’s here.

That’s my girl.