I have a friend whose daughter is eight months older than is my Hannah. Not long after her redheaded beauty turned six, she came to me feeling a wee bit perplexed; she wanted to know where her sweet little girl had gone. Apparently, her ooey-gooey sweet disposition had turned into nothing but sass and attitude. I found my friend’s claims a little difficult to believe, considering her daughter had never been anything but pleasant in my company, and I remember laughing off the conversation with a wave of the hand. Later on, however, I couldn’t help but wonder if I might suffer the same angst with my own offspring.

The answer, of course, was yes. My heart has been wrenched and torn incessantly since the day Hannah blew out those six candles with one big breath. In fact, I am convinced her birthday wish was to find a way to send me to Hell as quickly as possible on a bumpy road paved with tears and strife. Moreover, if I happened to score a few wrinkles and gray hairs along the way, all the better.

Hannah is now eight, and lately my mind has been wandering back to when times with my daughter were uncomplicated. Certainly, she is a fascinating and lovely individual at age eight, all gangly limbs and freckled cheeks and crooked teeth. She is gorgeous on the outside, but more important to me is how beautiful she is on the inside. She is a true friend – never one to judge and always the one to stick up for the underdog.

After reflecting on my feelings, I came to the realization that Hannah is the same wonderful person she has always been despite how she continues to physically change and grow emotionally. Unfortunately, I haven’t been keeping pace. I’ve been stuck in the past, trying to pull the reigns on a little girl who’s not quite so little anymore. As a woman responsible for “growing” another woman, I now understand that it’s not my right to control my daughter and make her bend to my will.
We bring our infants home from the hospital secure in the knowledge that we are the ones in control, the parents who know what’s best. Time goes on, however, and little darling begins to express her likes and dislikes, whether it be for a particular sippy cup or tub toy. She grows a little older yet, and all of a sudden, she’s refusing to wear clothes, preferring, instead, to walk around naked and leave warm puddles throughout the house like an untrained puppy dog. This is hard, you say, to everyone who will listen or to yourself when no one is around. She’s so stubborn. She’s so defiant. Why won’t she just listen?

I have to admit that Hannah was the model child. She was easy on every level, and I can honestly say I can look back on years one through five without any complaints or parental regret. *For those of you rolling your eyes, rest assured that parenthood, in general, hasn’t been a total cakewalk for me. My son was born when Hannah was just twenty-seven months old, and those of you who know what raising a child with behavioral difficulties and autism-like tendencies is like will know that most days are a struggle. Throw into the mix another toddler who is mischief personified, and you have one heck of a party!*

There came a time, however, when I could no longer tell Hannah to do something and expect her to do it without question. This wasn’t just a bit of toddler-defiance; this was full-fledge questioning-of-authority in which I had to justify myself to her. At first, I was taken aback. Imagine, having to answer to a child!

The concept is difficult, especially for a person who craves order and likes to be the one in control. Not too long ago, however, I took a long look at my daughter and realized, perhaps for the first time, that she is a real person and not some miniature caricature of me. The same can be said for all my children, and I feel it’s hardly fair to shackle them with my beliefs and wishes. *over inconsequential matters*

Lest you assume I run a house devoid of discipline, that is hardly the case. I’ve learned, however, that there can be absolutely no control where there is no respect. I’ve realized that it’s not my children who need to learn to respect me, but it’s me who needs to earn their respect.

**The above photo was taken on a day, not too long ago, when I forgot what respect looks like. Being the beautiful person she is, and certainly the more righteous, my daughter left me a peace offering.**