This blog is reprinted from my Patch blog from July 28, 2011: http://patch.com/B-mV4
My oldest baby turned 15 today.
Emily was due in mid-September, which I thought was a great plan. I was excited to have a little Virgo like myself – an obedient people-pleaser, striving to get straight A’s, correct everyone’s typos, and yet generally appear modest.
Instead, my water broke at week 33.
Emily’s premature arrival was a clear indication of the Leo she was destined to become – stubborn, independent, and outside-the-box (or in this case, outside-the-womb).
She was early and I was unprepared… in other words, completely clueless. If I wanted to mold this young being properly, I was going to need as much information as possible.
I poured through Dr. Sears, followed every week of What to Expect and Ages and Stages, practiced the exercises in building my baby’s self-esteem, raising my child in a moral world, and taming my toddler. I block-booked my little darling in a variety of parks & rec classes, Gymboree, dance, arts & crafts, and sports. I joined a mommies group that met every Wednesday and listened intently to the advice of other moms.
Still, I felt completely clueless.
When the other kids played together, Emily wandered off on her own, exploring someplace not so kid-friendly. The other toddlers chatted with their Barbies and stuffed animals, while Emily spent the afternoon playing in a drawer full of kitchen towels. She transformed each towel into a superhero cape, the fabric over a magic trick, a hijab, or a cast for her pretend broken leg.
We went to the movies one Christmas week when she was 4 years old. The other kids brought their favorite new toys to the theatre to hold during the movie. Emily brought an empty box covered with… you guessed it – a kitchen towel. She called her box “Cogsworth.” Other parents must have looked at her box and figured we were dirt poor.
Emily just gave Cogsworth a hug.
Again, I felt completely clueless.
In elementary school, when other children were writing their biographical book reports on Anne Frank and Babe Ruth, Emily gave a presentation on Sabina Spielrein, one of the first female psychoanalysts (and the test patient for psychoanalysis).
She tried to shake up her middle school dress code by alternately wearing a leather motorcycle jacket, Army camouflage, and a bloody Sweeney Todd apron to school. When Emily was summoned to the dean’s office, he asked her, “Why are you wearing a vampire cape?”
Emily answered, “There’s nothing in the dress code against it.”
When she started high school last year, Emily was at the height of her fashion quest. She wore heels, vintage 1950’s form-fitting dresses and her long red hair in a bun. This look, coupled with her 5’7” stature and Marilyn Monroe-like curves, had many students mistaking her for a teacher rather than a freshman.
Emily’s 15 years have brought me hundreds of clueless moments: when she was diagnosed with type-1 (insulin dependent) diabetes on her 3rd birthday; at 12 years, when she announced she was a vegetarian (and hasn’t had a bite of meat since); and last year when she told me that she likes boys and girls – and yes… in that way.
While other kids her age ore texting and hovering over Facebook, Emily is busy reading Allen Ginsberg, Friedrich Nietzsche and Sherlock Holmes. She turned me on to My Chemical Romance and Eddie Izzard, and her musical tastes run the gamut from The Beatles to Edith Piaf to Black Sabbath. Emily uploads her eclectic drawings to DeviantArt and creates hundreds of pages of elaborate costume designs. She’s an avid fan of Watchmen, Young Avengers and Legion of Superheroes comics, collects Star Wars and Star Trek figurines, and writes deep, disturbing essays about the morality of man.
I am a conventional gal. Emily is not.
I have had many more clueless moments, and I still have them often. The difference between 15 years ago and today is I accept that I’m a clueless mom. But instead of immediately running to a book or googling some expert (or more often than not, just some pseudo-expert who managed to get a book deal), I try to look to my 15-year old daughter for the answers.
Or at least some clues.