Crazy parenthood thing? (I'm so articulate today)

I was just reading the Kahlil Gibran poem "On Children" that Haddayr posted on her blog, http://haddayr.livejournal.com/352990.html, and it brought tears to my eyes. But it made me think of how differently everyone experiences this crazy parenthood thing. Some people I know wonder where in the world their child's disposition came from, and find the personality and interests of their child a fascinating mystery. For me, so far, it has been just the other way around. Everything about Daisy seems familiar, and sometimes in a way that makes me sad. Yesterday I was watching her scope out a plastic house in the waiting room of Pediatrics, clearly wanting to go over and play with it (she loves opening and shutting doors these days). But other, more assertive children were playing in it, and I couldn't get her to go over. Even when I went with her, she stopped short a few feet away from it and I couldn't get her to budge another inch, even though her eyes were fixed on it with desire. It brought back memories of me in kindergarten, desperate to play with a dollhouse that was always surrounded by other girls, never working up the courage to go over to it. The teacher though I was snotty or something, always sitting in a corner reading my book, but I was just painfully shy and unable to act.

But I think it would be a mistake to assume she's going to be just like us, and I'm glad that the Gibran poem reminds me of that. She is not going to be me. Or Mark. I can't wait to see her start going off in her own directions, or doing things that genuinely seem surprising to me.

So far... that's not happened. She reminds me of my real self, or sometimes the things I fear are lurking underneath my surface. I know it took me a long time to figure out how to get along in the world, to relate to people (I always wanted to relate to them, but for the longest time was trapped by shyness and insecurity). Now I tell myself it all comes naturally to me, but when I see Daisy, it brings back the fact that this was actually a long process. I hope she has connections with other people and that it's not as much of a struggle for her as it was for me. I hope she doesn't always retreat to a book because it's safer or easier. And at the same time, I love it that she loves books and gets extremely attached to them (she gives her favorite books hugs, as though they are characters in her life). And I like it that she's into words, and music, and sits and listens for hours sometimes to her favorite songs without getting bored. All those things resonate with me and remind me of our mother-daughter connection.

But it's good to be reminded that she is not me. I honestly forget sometimes. Now I am starting to see, from the other side finally, why mothers can have such a hard time distinguishing... why they get themselves all mixed up with their daughters. It must be painful to lose the symbiosis. I've already lost some of it, I know-- she is more independent, certainly, than she was during the first year of her life. But because she's still nursing, and because she's been so late to crawl and walk, it doesn't strike me all the time that she is not me, that she's trying to get away from me, that she WILL get away from me. I hope I can accept it and respect her as a separate person when the time comes to fully realize it.