Seven years? Can it be so? We celebrated her birthday and there was dinner and a trip to be pampered. No balloons or Chuck E. Cheese madness for us this year.
I stand amazed that my daughter has been growing for seven years and has the height, vocabulary and beauty to prove it. Have I weathered seven years of single parenting and come out alive? I toss my short, sleek hair back and laugh. Yes, I certainly have. *At this point, my daughter would remind me that my hair doesn't move when I toss it, but I digress. I feel like Picasso as I step back and say that I created that young lady.
Times have changed. I have changed with them and even when it was at its bleakest last year, I pressed on. I had to and couldn't afford to crumble. I have seven-year-old eyes watching my every move to figure out what position she was to play. She played it, too.
When I returned from my nine days in the hospital at my mom's side, my daughter watched me renew myself as a domesticated and humbled parent. She also watched when I didn't eat my peas and made sure to fuss at me until I did. It's funny how the roles reverse and sometimes the adult becomes the child.
I've learned to be even more skillful and resourceful. I guess you can say that I've sharpened the saw. I emerged a greater person, not because I was confident, but because my mom would have wanted me to. I couldn't falter.
I hadn't stumbled when my relationship with my daughter's father crumbled into dust. I hadn't stumbled when I took a leave from my employer after the loss of my mom and my supervisor was not feeling it. I simply didn't give a shit. My mental health had to prevail because I have seven-year-old eyes watching me. 2011 showed me that I inherently know what to do in every situation that comes my way. The answer is right there inside and all I have to do is listen to it.
That is how I made it through these seven years. That little voice inside.
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