Illegal Musings

Housekeeping notes first.

I want to be as honest as I can, while protecting the privacy and identities of others. I expect this will have a learning curve. The unfortunate reality of anything online is it’s become increasingly difficult to discern what is real vs. what is straight up fabricated.

I try to stay away from twitter/X unless I’m in the headspace to take none of it too seriously, but I have watched people build large followings under false premises as well as the fallout when these individuals are found to be liars. So the balance I’m trying to find is to be as honest as possible without sharing too much.

If any reader is going to be taking my words to heart in any way, I owe you as much honesty as I can ethically afford. In the paraphrased words of Joan Didion; “You need to know what you’re getting.” Anything less is a disservice to you as well as to the truth.

I don’t want to name my fiancé or our daughter. You can know my name, but no one else’s. I suspect there are still internet sleuths out there than can find the fine details if they want to, and to some degree there’s no helping that. I’m saying please respect the privacy I reserve, but I don’t expect any vindictive shit-stain to honor that request. Welcome to the internet.

Now, onto what I wanted to talk about.

Being the mother of a toddler. A two and a half year old toddler at that. More pointedly the two and a half year old daughter of two of the most stubborn people I’ve ever known. I’m sure you know where this is going.

What made our relationship work and a living hell in one stroke was the fact we were stubborn. We both wanted to know the other and be known without sacrificing our dignity and individuality. I don’t know if anyone has figured that out, and I suspect that is the rub of any long-term relationship and when it’s had its way with you, you go from sharp to smooth the way the water smoothes the stones on its shores.

My daughter is stubborn. The same way her father was in particular, which comes with a heady mix of “fuck you” and “admit it, I’m adorable”. What doesn’t help my case at all is the fact she has his smile and face structure. What she has from me is blonde curly hair and my blue eyes. I made a photo-mashup depicting the creation of new life before I knew I was pregnant, now I’m looking at the living mashup of my fiancé and I.

It’s a weird trip. I see so much of us both that I loved and was hard to live with, and for as frustrating as it can often be which, let’s be honest is what being a parent to a toddler is, I wouldn’t have it any other way. I love seeing her use her words and learn the meaning of “no” even if what she’s saying no to is something she needs to do for her own good.

I want her to keep it. Her stubbornness, her “no”. My fiancé and I learned the value of our will after it had been violated time and again. It’s a word she will need to know the power of for the rest of her life.

Being a parent is not for the faint of heart. In fact it’s been a whole pie of humility rather than a mere slice. This is also the most power I’ve ever held over the well-being of another person. That’s a lot of power and one hell of a learning curve wrapped up into one experience.

I’m scared shitless that I’ll mess it up. Not so much the making of mistakes which is inevitable, but the mess up that constitutes my daughter wanting nothing to do with me and with good reason. Finding that balance between honoring her personhood while guiding her in love how to operate in an ever changing world.

As a millennial I’ve often remarked how my baby boomer parents were preparing me for a world that no longer existed with no conscious fault of their own. Now, I’m looking down the barrel of that same possibility.

So, with that said, when my daughter passionately says “No!” to a diaper or pajamas, it’s not a huge problem. Just annoying in the moment. Until I’ll miss the day I got to dress her for bed.