The Timeless Struggle of Mothers and Young Daughters

I thought having a daughter would be the greatest thing in the entire world. I thought we’re going to have the most incredible bond and do all the same things together… I could not have been any more wrong.

Because I’m Pretty Sure My Daughter Hates Me

I mean there are days when we are the best of friends. Those days are mainly days I have all day to dedicate to her having fun. It’s when we do make up and nails. Also mommy isn’t trying to clean or organize so we are just chilling the whole day. She knows these days and toward the end of these “good days” I can tell she senses my fear.

Because as they say, all good things must come to an end. And our good days sometimes end badly. Screaming, crying, and throwing things. It’s horrible and on those nights I cry. I get so upset at myself and I think I fall back into postpartum depression. Is that a thing? Can you still have postpartum depression with a 6 year old? I know it sounds insane, but my head goes back to those colic nights where we both cried ourselves to sleep. And look at us now! …Still crying ourselves to sleep.

Oh and the reasons this child hates me.

It can be any number of things. If I hugged, kissed or had a date night with daddy I’m automatically in the dog house. He is hers and I am just the person who birthed her. As she puts it, I didn’t give her life, God did. That little brat, right? Pulling the God card to trump my work. I am also banned from picking out her clothes or shoes. She does not like how I brush and style her hair. I know what you’re thinking: what a spoiled kid.

Because there are days when I compromise. We pick out outfits together. We decide on hairstyles and bed time is a little smoother because I want her to have choices with her fashion. She needs to learn why I do what I do with picking out clothes and hairstyles. I.E. I like my kid to match and for awhile lice was going around so braids were our go-to hairstyle. But after work, I’m tired and there’s still dinner to get ready, so some nights compromise just isn’t possible.

Sometimes she’s just gotta do what mama says.

I am the mom and I always will be the mom. Unless I am causing her physical harm, that little sass queen will wear what I say, when I say it. Shocker, I bet! She hates me because with all her fussing and fighting, I still won’t let her wear Uggs to summer camp. She isn’t allowed makeup outside of the house. And bedtime is when I say, not when she is ready. I don’t always win, though, and those are the worst nights.

Those are the night she hates me and I hate myself a little, too.

Because even when I “win” the act of fighting with her still makes me feel like I’m losing. I will cry myself to sleep. I have no regret in holding her to the rules – don’t get me wrong. She hates me? Oh well. That won’t make me cave. But that doesn’t mean it doesn’t hurt. (Not that I’ll ever let her see that.) It doesn’t always work out the way I think it should, it’s true. But she is alive, healthy, relatively well-mannered and most of all, she knows she is loved. I pray this is a phase and these fighting days days are numbered but honestly, next thing I know, she’ll be a teen and the struggle will start all over with a vengeance.

Oh boy. Can’t wait.

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