Thursday, December 4, 2014

The First Cut Is the Deepest. Baby, I know.

Lat night, Ruby asked me to stop loving someone. She had crawled into bed with me and the small boy and snuggled right down and let us be with her, on her. But just like that! She was up and out and said to me from the foot of the bed: "I need to ask you something. I need you to stop loving ___. It hurts me that you do and I need you to stop."

The cruelty of the whole thing, the way she let me in and then cut me to the bone. I was instantly cold and my heart was pounding and the pressure in my face, eyes and head from the wanting to cry was overwhelming.

"OK." I said. I said "OK", I didn't have a choice.

She is my daughter! My love! The one I need to keep me going for the other two! Without her and her trust and devotion I am not whole.

It is the hardest thing I have ever had to do for her. She is demanding I have a broken heart to match her own.  All of this without even knowing how broken hearts really work yet.  Like a Joffrey, she is demanding sacrifice. Mercilessly.

They don't tell you about this part of mothering. About these exquisitely painful slices of pie you are asked to eat in one gulp with no sip of water, no mastication.

Her defiance is at once terrifying and exhilarating. She has strength and power I never did as a young woman. And since she has been given the freedom to wield her sword at will, sometimes I am the target.

Never once have I wished my babies to be a different age than they are. I pride myself on loving them right where they stand at the moment but today, as I spied her sleeping in her bed, if she had suddenly turned small and a little bit helpless, I would have been happy and I wouldn't have wept silently in her doorway.

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