In a recent conversation, my daughter Lily, who is just five years old, expressed her belief that God gave her a dimple to keep my kisses safe. Such charming notions are typical for children at her age. Lily’s older brother, Ethan, who is eight, often impresses me with his remarkable insights about the world around him. However, Lily captures my heart with her sweet innocence—a daily dose of whimsical thoughts filled with unicorns and the vibrant colors of childhood.
Just this morning, Lily asked when her dad would return from his work trip. “Mommy,” she inquired, “When is Daddy coming back from Your Amie?” I corrected her gently, explaining he was actually in Miami. “That’s what I said, Mommy. Your Amie,” she insisted, her cuteness undeniable.
While I cherish these tender moments, I also understand that the future may not always hold such sweetness. Mothers of pre-teens and teenagers often remind me that these years of adorableness will eventually give way to eye rolls and frustration. They warn me, “Just wait…”—as if foreboding the transition from a loving child to a sulking adolescent.
As I navigate the ups and downs of parenting, I realize that my daughter may one day seek guidance from a therapist. Growing up in Los Angeles, where mental health resources are abundant, and in an era dominated by social media and comparisons, it seems likely. I have benefited from therapy throughout my life, and I recognize its potential value. However, I often ponder how much of her time in therapy will revolve around her perceptions of me.
This concern is not about the inevitable moments of frustration that arise when I lose my temper after a long day or when I take shortcuts with dinner. What troubles me is the possibility that Lily may internalize my shortcomings as reflections of her worth. It’s a common struggle for many girls, and my goal is to help her navigate these feelings.
Doctor, if Lily ever expresses doubts about my love in your office, please remind her of the countless times I took her to Chuck E. Cheese, enduring the sensory chaos and her inevitable meltdowns over prize tickets. Those visits were sacrifices of love, even if they weren’t always met with gratitude.
Children often forget the nights I spent helping with school projects or the times I woke up early to make her favorite breakfast. Instead, they remember the times I slipped up. This is the reality of parenting.
Additionally, please share with her the story of the Lego set I took weeks to build for her. Lily received a Lego Friends Pop Star Tour Bus for Hanukkah, and while we both struggled with the assembly, I ultimately surprised her by completing it alone. Her joy when she discovered it was an immeasurable reward, but I didn’t do it for the praise; I did it to show her that she is loved deeply.
Ultimately, I want Lily to grow into a confident, self-loving individual who doesn’t dwell on fleeting moments of disappointment. It’s crucial that she understands my actions—like enduring outings to Chuck E. Cheese or battling spiders—were all expressions of love.
If she questions my love because of missed dinners or other small failures, please reassure her that I love her with an unfathomable depth. Remind her that while I may forget to make dinner, my love for her remains constant and unconditional.
Lily will face challenges, but with your support, I hope she develops resilience. And perhaps one day, she’ll find herself in my shoes, navigating the joys and trials of motherhood.
For more insights on parenting and insemination, check out our articles on at-home insemination kits and related resources, including this excellent guide on pregnancy.