It's that age

Motherhood is something one cannot really prepare for. I have babysat a lot of children, practically raised one of my brothers, taught scores of students - but all of that doesn't matter. The real thing is something else altogether.

"Oh, I grew up with boys", I tell myself. Lots and lots of boys. Little boys are simple beings, really. Tell them a few things in no uncertain terms, have a fist-fight or two if necessary, and all's settled....well, that was how it appeared to me as an older child anyway :). In later years, I managed to retain the respect sans the fisticuffs, and that made things easy. You can teach, play with them, watch a game of cricket or two and its all smooth-sailing.

*-*-*

Raising a girl is a different thing, though. Sassy back-talk, sudden super-sensitivity, endless rounds of arguing, persuading, failed attempts at empathy from my side.....sometimes ending in two little hands crossed across a little chest, and a seething "I don't want to, and you can't MAKE ME!"

Sometimes it ends with me counting loudly to five, the count of five signifying the end of "The Grace Period" and the start of the "Do It Or Else Period". The 'it' can be anything - putting away her dishes after use, studying for a test, looking over the mistakes in a past test in the hope of correction, finishing up a homework, dance practice. Resistance is sure to come. It must be faced, and the job needs to get done, so God help me.

*-*-*

I wonder if at 9, I already have a teenager on my hands. One day I find myself saying aloud:

"I hope one day you will have a daughter just like you! Then and ONLY then will you know how much you've put your mother through...."

And I find myself pausing. This has echoes from the past. Years ago - decades ago, I remember my mother screaming these exact words to me. And looks like her wish came true.....Hmm.

So that is what it is. My daughter is too much like me. We must feel similar levels of stress in the same situation, while laughing ourselves silly in others. The good times are super and the bad times are nothing short of exhausting. I don't have a partner to help me through this, or divert her attention. So its all up to me - getting her to do her work, facing resistance, holding firm....and wearing myself out in the process.

"It's that age", someone tells me. "They are growing, and finding themselves. Rebellion is to be expected!"

But how does a parent survive this? Child wants endless fun, and no homework, tests or anything.

"I'm just a kid, Amma", she says.

On the other hand, all of a sudden she wants to act grown up. One day it is about trying out a new hairstyle:

"Ok", I say. "But no hair over the eyes - it gives one a squint"

The next day it is wanting fake stick-on nails that had a built-in French Manicure.

"Not in this household and not at 9"
"But Fatima is doing it"
"I don't care what Fatima is doing. You're not and that's that!"

The arguments usually go in circles, coming back to the same point and starting over.

"You never let me DO anything!"
"Yes, I do"
"Like what?"
"I got you nail glitter the other day when you wanted it!"
"But you don't let me wear shorts!"
"You wore them yesterday!"
"Not the blue shorts - you said I can't wear them to school!"
"Those were your shorts from 3 years ago!"
"But they still fit me!"
"School rules are that shorts must not be shorter than an inch above the knee!"
"But we have a new principal and she doesn't care!"
"I care."
"You never let me DO anything!"

*-*-*
Sudden increase in school work is the other challenge. Homework is now everday, and tests every other day. The rule is that one comes home, relaxes for half an hour, grabs a snack and a drink. After that the work gets done first, then one can play, watch cartoons, do what they want. This seems reasonable, but apparently Kamala doesn't think so.

It begins with whining.

"But its too difficult!"
"What's too difficult?"
"This - the three pages of Math!"
"What's so hard about it?"
"Ammmaaaa! You're saying that because you've done all this already!"
"And so have you, Missy. There is not a single problem in this that you cannot solve!"
"But its 3 pages!"
"So? The sooner you start, the sooner you get done!"
"But its too haaaaard!"
"What is?"
"This - the three pages of Math!"

And so we go on until I realize...that this is getting to be a broken record. Kamala was upset at missing out on all the fun. There was TV to watch, stories to read, and the study time was ruining all that. So she was rebelling by delaying getting to her work, and arguing in circles.

I tell her that I'll be in the next room, until she finishes. I walk away and close the door. But still there is no peace.....Kamala, when she protests something, makes sure she is heard. Each problem is punctuated by cries of "Its too haaard!". I try to ignore her, but her voice grates on the mind.

Finally, I emerge to find that every problem she has finished, is done right. Only a few remain. But here she is, glaring at me:

"Its too difficult!"
"No its not!"
"Yes it is."
"I'm going for a walk!"
"You're SO mean! I HATE YOU!"

Sigh.
*-*-*

I decide to take her to the park one Sunday. The idea is to get her to prepare for a Math test the next day. I tell her that she can study for her test in the park, and in between she can take breaks to play. I figure that she can't scream "Its too difficult!" in a public park, and I can get some peace that way.

It is a nice cloudy day, with a hint of sunshine. Kamala dresses carefully in her jeans and fancy beaded top. Most of her costume jewelry is on her. She is wearing bracelets on one hand, and rings in the other. She puts on her dangly earrings - and carries a purse someone had gifted her. She looks as if she's getting ready to go to a party. Glances at me as if waiting for an objection. I zip my lips and decide not to say anything. Better save the battles that are sure to come, for the Math test preparation.

The day is beautiful. Chidren are playing on swings, see-saws, and slides. Ducks waddle around near a lake. We find a little gazebo with a picnic table and sit down on the bench.

I let her play for a bit and then we work on the test. We practice some problems together. She watches kids on see-saws, and has to be plodded to work. I give her a list of problems to solve on her own. Half-way through the list, she looks like she wants a break. Looks longingly at the Monkey-bar - but stoically says nothing.

"Ok, kid! Two more problems, and you can go play on the Monkey-bar for 5 minutes! You can come back and finish the rest!"
"Ok!"

She is all enthusiasm now. Races through the problems and is off. I take a break too, get up and stretch myself. Walk around a bit, and come back to sit down. She calls out from the Monkey-bar:

"Is it time already?"

I look at my watch. "Two more minutes!"
"Okay!" she smiles at me.

I watch her navigate the bars expertly, and then come to a low bar. She holds the bar with both hands, and swings her body. Then pulls her legs over the bar, bends her knees over it to make an upside down 'V' with each leg, and lets go of her hands.

I watch her, amused. There she is, bracelets and all, rings on her fingers, fancy beaded top and nailpolish to match.....dressed to kill, but gleefully hanging upside down by her knees on a Monkey-bar. She has a contented smile on her face, and for all my fears of prematurely having a teenager on my hands - seems very much the child. A child who needs my guidance and limit-setting, whether she appears to want them or not. A child who sometimes tries on an adult role, and stumbles around like a toddler wearing her mother's slippers..... No wonder she gets angry and frustrated.

My heart goes out to her, and tries to record this moment in time. Its that age, indeed. I still have no clue how to navigate it, but moments like this will remind me of an easier time, and make it bearable.