Show Me Love

Lately I’m feeling a little like a Russian nesting doll. Down deep is who I’ve always been…. a girl that loves music, football, dancing, reading, and being goofy. One who is forever unable to wear eye makeup correctly regardless of how many liquid eyeliners I try or how many tutorials I watch….an eternal counselor whether it be to a student, a friend, or just some random I accidently make eye contact with at the gas station…. a murder mystery addict….and most of the time a loner that could live on cheese whiz and diet coke. I tried to stay the exact same person after marriage and well that didn’t work out too well. It was inevitable that sooner or later I would need to step inside my next slightly larger nesting place and the responsibilities that were attached. After 10 years Legan Moore was finally starting to grow on me and feel normal. Kind of like a weird mole.

Just when I think I’ve gotten the hang of balancing Legan Billings and Legan Moore I decide to become a mother to a teenager. Bahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahaha.

When we adopted Richa we know many people thought “Are they sure they are cut out for that?” “Are they going to be able to handle this?” Yeah, so the answer to both questions is no. I’m not cut out for it and I’m positive most days I can’t handle it, but in spite of myself I want Richa (as well as every child on this planet) to know the love of a family. Plus, I’m her mom, I was meant to be her mom, and so since it's divinely destined I want to make sure I'm a GOOD one. Therein lies my main problem.

What is a good parent? Is a good mother affectionate? Readily available? Firm? Playful? A chef? Clean freak? Career Driven? Last summer (pre-motherhood) I would have said that being a good mom is basically Lorelai Gilmore plus the ability to cook amazing Indian food. Unattainable and unrealistic goal was set. Now after being in the trenches for 4 months I’m starting to think that being a good mother to your child is giving them what they need. That might look different than I thought and it may look different than the way other moms are parenting their children but that’s ok. I’m not talking about Maslow’s hierarchy of needs that we all share like safety, food, water, education, sleep, etc. I’m talking about the unique way that she gives/receives love and connects with others. A few items of importance to my daughter are a myriad of hot pink leggings, the thermostat locked at 85, constant companionship, freedom to never wear a coat, patience, consistent encouragement and affirmation, and really spicy home cooked Indian food (emphasis on home cooked). If you know me well you know that I’m not naturally good at anything on her “needs” list. Typical God move. (insert eye roll)

I’m not patient at all. Ok you were abandoned, you just learned how to walk, survived trauma after trauma, and you can’t speak English. It’s been four months already aren’t you over it yet? I’m only affirming if I intentionally think about it and make myself follow through. I hate the color hot pink and I NEVER wear leggings. My palate is that of a third grader which means I’m completely content with cheese and crackers every night, and I don’t enjoy cooking at all. Last but certainly not least I like to keep my house frigid so I can wear hoodies and use layers of blankets at night regardless of the outside temperature. Oh, did I mention I rarely need companionship? Introverts of the world unite. See where I’m going with this?

I’ve been putting off cooking Indian food since she got home in August. It was my final protest to the nesting doll labeled Mom. But she was always asking about food, wanting to know how things were made, wanting us to all eat together “at home”, and so I finally caved. Ughhhhh. My mother on the other hand is thrilled. She graciously coached me through two Indian dishes and it turned a corner for Richa and myself as a mother/daughter duo. I could see immediately that this was the last thing she needed for her to know I truly loved her and wanted to care for her. "Thank you!!! (followed by excited giggling) It smells sooooo goood!!" I need someone to bring me McDonald’s and leave me alone....she needs us to be joined at the hip while eating ethnically diverse home cooked meals. Go figure.

God no doubt gave me the child I needed. She is helping me grow into a more wholehearted less processed meat eating version of my former self, and I can only hope that one day she in turn will bloom into a less dependent, more educated, confident young woman who wears black and navy leggings in addition to fuchsia. A mother can dream.