Yes, I had heard the stories. I recall very little, but I had heard the stories throughout the years - running away when I was three, cutting my sisters hair (entirely) off, being called a juvenile delinquent as a toddler, and, unfortunately, the list of stories go on.
When Ella was born, I prepared myself from day one. I knew there was a chance she would be the one. The payback....the mini-me.
My husband assured me over and over again that I was wrong. She, he was convinced, was a mini-him. And he was right. Ella was calm, introverted, quiet, and helpful. She was not my mini-me; and I was grateful.
And so when Jrod came along, I was sure he would be it - my wild child, my payback for giving my mother gray hair at a young age.
For four years, I staked my claim. I told my mother: "See! I can most certainly handle a mini-me!" I got through poop smeared walls, powder bottles dumped, and dirt galore. I had succeeded! I had done it! I had survived another me.
I was wrong.
Lily was born in 2008. I didn't prepare myself, due to the fact that I thought I already had a mini-me. I was geared up for an easy number three. A number three that you hardly knew was there. A number three that was everything that I wasn't.
Lily has always been....different....from the other two. More dramatic (telling me that she has never in her entire life had a more difficult mom), more mature at a young age (explaining to her brother and sister that she's never getting married because she'll never, ever kiss people on the lips for long times), and has been a deeper thinker (asking us if she can live with her favorite Dentist when we die).
So, in the last couple weeks, I have slowly come to a difficult realization, and several events have led up to this enlightenment:
Recently, I was playing piano during a worship service, leading the congregation in singing. With no warning, Lily ran up on stage during the middle of a song: "Mom! Mom! I need a mint really bad!"
Seriously?
After telling her firmly to go back down, I thought I had gotten through to her.
I was wrong. She ran up a second time - this time crying: "I don't want to sit in my chair anymore!"
We finished the song acapella.
And I began to wonder.....could she be my mini-me? Nah.
And then a few days later, I ran into Lily's teacher. Lily, she explained, asks for food often, and while they usually ignore her frequent requests, her teacher told her the other day that she'd get lunch when she got home from school.
"But that won't happen," Lily explained, "my mom never, ever feeds me lunch."
I laughed. And then...just to be safe....assured the teacher that I feed my child.
But it was Sunday when this particular realization became clearer than ever before. On Sunday, I noticed lily holding herself all morning -as if she needed desperately to use the bathroom. I finally took her into the corner at church and inquired:
"Lily, do you have to use the bathroom?"
"No."
"Is something uncomfortable?"
"No."
I went with my motherly instinct and looked under her dress. My child had hidden graham crackers and other goodies in her underpants.
I didn't even know what to ask. What would I ask? Why are there sweets in your underwear? Should that have immediately come to mind? I just looked at her. And she answered:
"I just was making treats appear. I can do magic, mom."
That was it. I knew right there and then. She is my mini-me - and before long, my brown hair will begin to gray.
Standing in the corner with my daughter, I started laughing uncontrollably. And I have a feeling that won't be the last time I laugh. There may be many tears along the way (I deserve that), but there will also be many, many laughs.
I love you, Wilbur. My little mini-me.
