Innocence lost

I'm a strong advocate for keeping kids kids. Seriously, why force them to grow up?
But when my daughter asks about babies, I just can't lie or sugarcoat it or anything. It is what it is--this is how babies are made. Yet, when she asks about Santa Claus or the Easter Bunny, I lie. I hide behind platitudes and Christmas spirit thoughts.
She asks me, "Is there a Santa?"
I answer with a question,"Do you believe in Santa?"
"Yes," she says with conviction. "There has to be a Santa because how else would all the kids get toys all on the same night?"
And that should end the discussion. But if she asks me about how babies are made, I have to tell her. I have added a few details, like, you have to be married, but that came back and bit me.
She asked, "How did Aunt Alyssa have a baby if she's not married?"
Ooops!

What about the baby?

When my daughter was very small--you know, fits in a bucket, doesn't do much but eat, sleep, cry & poop--I couldn't believe how much work one little person was. The sleep deprivation, the constant concern, the paranoia, the guilt, etc. The bathing, the constant feeding, the changing of the diapers--on and on.
Well, I miss those days. I miss the baby. I miss dressing her in whatever was clean. Breastfeeding meant no choices in food, but that was okay because it was good. I could spend the evening just watching her sleep because she was so amazing.
Now I have a five-year-old who sasses, who refuses to eat, who is particular about her clothing and hates to take baths. She just wants to be with me when I want to be alone and she constantly wants to play with the neighbor when I want to spend some quality time with her.
I miss the baby.
But the baby never told me she loved me. The baby never had an opinion. The baby couldn't tell me about her day at school.
I miss the baby, but I love my child: I love watching her learn. I love her intelligent questions out of nowhere. I just love her and I know that she will do the same stupid things that all kids do and there's nothing I can do to stop it, even though I know what will happen.
Why can't they learn from our mistakes?

Church and the emotional Mom

I went to church for the third time since my marriage. Each time has been for a funeral. I have tried very hard to block out the automatic responses to the priest, but sometimes I just blurt them out.
I have also broken two cardinal rules: never go out without a tissue and definitely don't go to a funeral alone. I spent most of the time at the funeral trying not to cry because I would have had to wipe my drippy eyes and runny nose on my coat sleeve and grossed out everyone else who wasn't paying attention.
Curiously, though, if it weren't for all the standing and sitting and blabbing by the priest, the funeral was kind of meditative and relaxing, once I got the weeping under control. In fact, if it were in Latin, I might have enjoyed it better.
Near the end of the funeral, I was relieved that they hadn't sang Amazing Grace because then I definately would have bawled, not just wept. Instead, everyone sang The Star Spangled Banner. It seems, no matter how angry I am at current political policies or particular politicians, my country's song can still bring tears to my eyes.
And that was the end of the meditative moment.

What happened to Alexis?

I miss Alexis from Texas.
I miss her courtesy, her eating habits and her predilection for flying in and out of my life at odd times.
There was a point in my life when I didn't know if I was talking to my daughter or her alter ego. When she replied, "K---'s Mom, K--- is in
Texas visiting my family. I'm Alexis," then I would know.
But Alexis ate chili--my daughter won't.
Alexis loved baths and didn't mind having her hair washed--my daughter would rather have bugs (not that we've reached that point...)
Alexis was polite, didn't argue, and played quietly by herself--my daughter is sometimes rude, says, "No!" before she hears the question, and "Play with me" is her favorite saying.
I miss Alexis from Texas.

Imaginary friends

I miss Sara, Bibbip, and George. Really.
They were my daughter’s imaginary playmates until she was four years old. She would play for hours creating imaginary scenarios; then spend lunch time telling me all about her adventures. Mostly they were about the relationships between her imaginary friends. One strange day Bibbip ate Sara and George.
At two years old, I’ve been told, children don’t really play with each other. It’s true. But yet, she would play with these invisible friends until they had to go home—which was always on her terms. I had no control of these friends. These friends were four and five—which must have been magic ages for my two-year-old.
As she grew older (around four), Alexis from Texas replaced Sara, Bibbip, and George. Instead of playing with Alexis, my daughter would become Alexis. She would say, “Mom, I’m going to the airport to pick up Alexis now,” as she left the room.
Shortly afterwards, she would return, saying, “Hello, K---’s Mom, I’m Alexis.”
When I asked her where K--- was, Alexis would say, “She’s visiting my family in Texas.”
“How did you get here from the airport?” I would ask.
“I drove K---’s car,” she would explain, as if it were obvious. Because every four-year-old has a car.
Sometimes I enjoyed having Alexis around. First of all, she ate chili for dinner, which my daughter refuses to do. Secondly, she acted like a guest: she had excellent manners, cleaned up after herself and never had a tantrum when I washed her hair. There was a time when Alexis stayed for close to a week. I didn’t want her to leave.
My daughter always remembered when she was pretending to be someone else and she would let me know, “K---’s Mom, I’m Alexis, not K---.”
Of course I should have known this by the behavior modification.