Portrait of a Lady at 12.
December 6th, 2008 , Posted in UncategorizedIt is difficult for me to write this post. It involves my oldest daughter who turns 12 today & there are simply no words that could do her justice. Maybe Shakespeare or Whitman or Dickinson could whip up something fitting but me, I struggle.
Anna was born out of my amazing love affair with my husband. We were married for less than a year when we decided to try & make a baby. She was conceived within the month. We were poor. We lived above a bakery in town & our apartment stunk like fried dough & grease. We had one bedroom, some used furniture, & God we were in love!
We decided to have a homebirth with a local midwife & soon after seeing her for the first time, I had a very vivid dream where she told me that my baby was absolutely perfect & that I had nothing to worry about. So I never worried. My pregnancy was wonderful. I felt so lovely & so happy & although I never got an ultrasound, I knew that she was a girl. “How do you know?” people would ask & I could never explain but I could feel it & I knew her in a way that I could never quite put into words without sounding like a loon. And inside me she was sending off her joy to me. “This baby is different” I would think to myself. She was due December 8 but she arrived 2 days early after a long labor & many hours of pushing. It was snowing & cold & I was over the moon. Anna we called her. Both of my great grandmothers were Anna & my husbands Grandma as well. She was perfect with an Apgar of 10 & a whole room of people who were waiting to get her in their arms. And no lie folks, she held her head up when she was about 30 minutes old & looked around the room & I said to myself again, “this baby is different…”
Could it be 12 years since that cold December night? Yesterday I told my friend that the part I hate most about her being 12 is that I sometimes forget her at 3, & 7 & 9. I have to be reminded with photos or home movies. I forget the way she smelled & the way she looked without her teeth. I forget how she used to nurse from my breast. I forget the million funny things she said & how she would sleep curled up in my arms at night. Dammit, I forget.
And yet, Anna at 12 is more wonderful & beautiful than I could have ever dreamed on that night. She still sends off her joy to me. She is perhaps, the happiest person I have ever met. She loves life & her family & her friends & her dancing. She loves sushi & music & reading & story writing. She wakes every morning, every single morning, with a smile on her face & a bounce in her step. She runs to me when I pick her up at Girl Scouts or dance & in front of all her friends, she hugs me tight & yells “Mama!! I missed you!”, without caring what anyone thinks or how she is supposed to now be embarassed by me & act aloof. . She is her own girl & for that I am most proud of all.
She loves both Hanna Montana & Chopin. She reads Nancy Drew & has read Clara Barton’s biography about a dozen times. She loves to wear a dress even though her friends stopped wearing them years ago. I want to tell her that if she truly wants to be a teenager, she is going to have to abandon her 19th century vocabulary in favor of the overuse of the word “like” She gives no thought at all to the fact that she still carries her doll Lizzy around with her. She simply loves her & wants to keep her around awhile longer. She is neither immature nor to mature. She is just Anna & happy to be so.
How lucky I am to be her mom. This past summer I said to her, “I cannot believe you are going to be 12 soon!” And she said, “I know mom. I am almost going to be a teenager. I am going to be impossible!”And we all had a good laugh at that because Anna couldn’t be impossible if she tried.