My sweet and cute preteen daughter has... been in rare form ALL day. Days like these I remind my frustrated self that she's becoming a woman. Her menstrual cycle is nearly here. But then again, this has been my reasoning since the child was TWO!

I'm at my wits end on days like this, which are fewer and far between. Her personality remains as it was when she came into the world - in utero honestly --- fearless, aggressive and confident. One might wonder how can you tell these traits in an infant. And I say to you, "I have it on videotape".

Not being a parent who wants to alter (but cultivate) who her child is, I have had the wisdom (tried to at least and still trying) to guide but not destroy what's natural, and to some degree, beautiful depending on how you  perceive it. Fearlessness, aggressiveness and confidence are all useful and admiral traits that many aspire to acquire in order to navigate through life successfully.

She has always demanded (in her way) to be right underneath me. The kids are close to their dad, but she is extra attached/glued to me. Even when she was born, she'd scream and cut her eyes at me whenever I'd put her in the warmer or turn my back to rest - always demanding her moms attention as if to say, "I'm here!". And constantly I'm in some way saying, "mommy sees you darling".

Not wanting to be controlled by an infant, I'd protest, I'd resist until... she'd win. Having lost a child, a daughter several years prior made me even more bonded [as if I could be closer] and very vigilant, mother lion-ish. All three of our kids were nursed until they naturally weaned themselves and by the time she, the youngest arrived I dared some one to disrespectfully judge MY choices for MY child.

Eventually I learned I was what is defined as an  Attachment Parent. I can remember how thrilled and shocked I was to discover there was a name describing a major portion of my parenting style and philosophy (for me). Also, I naively assumed every parent were giving their toddler the freedom to read, to explore, to inquire. Our son started reading (well) by age two. By three he comprehended basic arithmetic - addition/subtraction, eventually on to multiplication/division by four.

I have photos of him at the chalk board, exploring the computer; on video reading chapter books. This was our first born, our son, of course. We had no idea what we were doing. Had no comments on what other parents should be doing. All we had was determination and discernment to do better than what we had, minus any ineffective whining or excuses.

Then my first daughter came, healthy yet unexpectedly and suddenly she died (in my arms... at my breast). No one knows what their tomorrow will be.  Journeying through this paralyzing loss, much like a highly focused, wounded pit bull, I became even more hyper-vigilant over my son who is now 18 (who acquired several college degrees already). Totally hands on mom, mind you. I stopped working (was a very successful self-employed hairstylist fortunate to operate in an established, exclusive salon; skilled in ALL hair types) soon after the devastation no parent is prepared to endure.

For a long time I had no idea I was homeschooling until it was time to send my son (first born) to school. Each year, I was like, "I'm not ready to let him go". So we kept him home another year then another. Down the line we realized there was a thing called homeschooling and we had been doing a form of it all along. Content with our choices and the results, we kept going. Made it work through parental bereavement (child loss),  financial challenges (unexpected one income), chronic illness (daily migraines) and now health crisis (Renal Failure/Stoke/Dialysis).

I digress, didn't intend to write all this - totally rambling away from subject (which happens since the stroke), my daughter, the youngest and the baby. Everything is connected, as the topics in this post.

Well, what gives me hope with my daughter is my son's recent apologies to his dad and I. He stressed us big time and I soon forgot how I wanted to rip his head off (figuratively). He wasn't a bad or an awful kid. Never bullied or mean spirited to anyone. Just a complicated type of human that we had to figure out. Couldn't parent him as if he were average. And that puzzle had numerous pieces that my husband and I did the work through lovingly (but firmly), patiently piece by piece - alone. Our struggle was ours like all others and we managed through it - peacefully, positively and productively.

When I want to rip my daughter's head off (figuratively), envisioning our family in the news, I take deep breaths and look through the photo album in my mind. Visualizing pictures of that cute, sweet, addicting baby that we were told we couldn't conceive (a joyous birth followed by surreal miscarriages) but is here in the flesh - driving me nuts at times, but she means the world to me and she knows/feels it.

I tell my kids how honored I am to be their mom and my actions demonstrate that unique and genuine affection. Oftentimes I miss them when they are sleeping...

Prediction is, someday my daughter be like her quality brother, shameful of the stresses her behavior(s) put us through and in that moment of her sincere regret, I will be assured that her dad and I raised another quality child ~ one more with awareness, compassion and thoughtfulness. One who recognizes the sacrifices made to provide the best life possible [despite the unthinkable childhood "I" survived]. I'm here proving that history does not have to repeat itself and that there are no excuses not to appreciate your living and breathing child (despite their behavior) minus any conditions. I survived many obstacles as a testimony --through deep reflection and forgiveness ~ that good things are possible.