Mountains

On Saturday I convinced Baby Girl to let me take her earrings out and put the cute, newly purchased, reindeer ones in. I showed her how it doesn’t hurt to take earrings out and put them back in. Convinced, she let me do it. I got both stud earrings out which had been put in in the summer when Sissy took her to get her ears pierced. Then I noticed that her ears were bleeding a little. Strange, I thought to myself. They should be fully healed by now. Of course Baby Girl wanted to see the holes in her ears and thus immediately noticed the blood. She also then noticed how pointy the ends of earrings are. I noticed that she had what looked like blood blisters on the backs of her ears. I decided I better not point that out to her as she was already of the verge of backing out completely. We managed to get the reindeer earrings in and go to the barn Christmas party, with minimal fuss. Later that night when I took the reindeer earrings out I again noticed the little bit of blood. Ignoring this and her whining that her ears hurt, I wished Baby Girl a goodnight and left it for the morrow.

Sunday I told Baby Girl that we had to get the stud earrings back in otherwise her holes would close up. I was fairly certain that this would actually happen because it did not seem as if they were as healed as they should be; after six months?! At any rate I went at her ear with one earring and she immediately started crying and backing away from me. She wouldn’t even let me try. Convinced that it was going to hurt, a lot, she kept repeating that she was scared and that it was pointy. I was patient. I told her I knew it would hurt a little bit but not that much. Like pulling a tooth out. It wouldn’t last long. She still resisted. After thirty minutes of me desperately explaining that we only had two choices in this situation (go ahead and do it or let the holes close up) I finally succeeded in getting the earring in through the hole, only to have her scream like I was stabbing her with a fork in the eye. I still had to get the back on. Well, those little stud earrings are teensy tiny and you have to get a good grip on it in order to get that back on. Every time I went anywhere near her ear fresh hell would break loose. Huge tears and snot running down her face and I was all out of patience. I had no idea what to do. I am not a terribly patient mom in the first place and I was damn near the end of my rope. Of course the more irritated I got the worse she behaved, and vice versa. A never ending loop of frustration and tears.

After another twenty minutes I got the back on that one earring. To hell with it. The second earring would have to wait. I tell Baby Girl we will deal with it later. Exhausted, she readily agreed. We spent the next few hours watching movies and painting Christmas ornaments.

Baby Girl is never one for jumping up and getting ready for bed. She likes her bath but she’d rather be playing (on her ipad usually). So every night we struggle at bedtime. I want her to get in the bath; she wants to prance around the house in her underpants. I want her to get out of the bath; she wants to pretend she is in a submarine spouting water all over the bathroom while rising from the deep. I want her to get her PJ’s on; she wants to get her dolls ready for bed. I want her to brush her teeth; she wants another snack. I want her to get IN the bed; she wants to be a puppy rolling around and yelping.

Sunday night was going to be no different, even though every night I tell myself it will be. I tell her it’s time for her bath and I go and start the water. She morphs into a sloth and makes her way to the bedroom to remove her clothes. I tell her if she will *quickly* let me put that other earring in then I will let her have a gummy. She hides in the hallway. I tell her repeatedly to COME HERE and let me do it. I start out patient. I start out explaining why we must. I start out full of empathy and understanding.

It escalated like a house on fire. Pretty soon we are in flames with no hope of rescue. She cries, I cajole. She screams, I tell her come on it’s just temporary. I’m scared she cries, I tell her I know but we have to do it anyway. As she gets more and more worked up I get more and more frustrated. In my head I know that me getting upset isn’t helping, BUT I can not control it. I tell myself stop – you are traumatizing her – she will never get over this. But as she loses her shit I completely lose the plot. If I tell her fine, I’m done, we won’t do this she screams bloody murder and grabs at me to sit back down. She reaches for me, wanting me to hold her, which I do, but at the same time won’t let me touch her ear. I tell her you are making a mountain out of a molehill. A phrase I am sure she doesn’t understand. I tell her again that we either have to do it or we have to let it close up. She just cries harder. I am all out of options, all out of ideas, all out of patience and all of a sudden I just start crying, too.

We are a mess. For forty minutes we have battled. For forty minutes over an earring. I am angry, more at myself than at her, for not knowing how to handle this situation. Baby Girl and I are so alike that we battle constantly. I think – how will I ever handle her at 12? 15? How will I ever be able to control this attitude, this passion, this fire in her? Or more to the point, how will I DIRECT her attitude, her passion, her fire? How will I teach her that sometimes things have to hurt a little bit, in order to move forward? That pain isn’t the end of the world? That there is no choice in this world but to be brave? If I can’t even get through a forty minute battle over an earring without crying myself, how will she learn to control her own emotions? She hates being yelled at. I hate being yelled at. I can’t stand for her to be upset, I can’t handle her tears, and she can’t handle mine. Sometimes I try to ignore her tears and then she accuses me of not caring. Oh Baby Girl, if you only knew how much I care. That I have to walk away sometimes because it hurts to care so much. That you will somehow have to learn to stand on your own two feet, without me. That you will have to somehow learn how to be strong. How to be brave.

Baby Girl I want you to move mountains, not create them. We are on the same side, you and I. I know you are strong, maybe even stronger than me. My own strength I would give to you, but it isn’t what it once was. Life has been cruel these past couple years and my heart isn’t into life like it used to be. I was lucky to have my parents for so long, with their unwavering love and support. It kills me that you won’t have them at all. I hope the love they gave you for your first seven years has been enough. I hope you can look past the emotional grave I find myself in and realize I only ever loved you more than I loved myself. Move mountains, Baby Girl, and know that I’m never going to not be there for you. Battle on, Warrior, for I know the demons you are slaying. We are stronger than we think.