Beba Revisited

Maybe it's because we dropped her off at college three weeks ago. Maybe it's because I made myself not call her for the first week. A whole damn week. Maybe it's because I have found myself wondering how we got here so quickly. I swear she just started middle school like last week.

Wondering Is she eating? Is she getting enough rest? Did I do this right, I mean, she is prepared to be on her own, right? How is she managing time? And a plethora of other worries . . .

Maybe it's because she's realizing a childhood dream of mine; she is a UNCW cheerleader, after all. (Yes, I am the mother of a collegiate cheerleader. And yes, I will sign autographs.)

Or maybe it's as simple as she's my daughter and I am extremely proud of her and all of her accomplishments. Whatever the reason, I thought it appropriate to revisit an old post. I can't say it any better now that I did then. I love you Beba . . . . .



I remember fondly the day my daughter was born.  It was the first time I ever experienced love at first sight.  She was perfect . . . . in every way.

She slept through the night at two weeks of age.  She had the sweetest disposition I have ever known.  She was just so . . . . easy.  I was shocked at how naturally I bonded with her, how I instinctively knew exactly what to do and what she needed (I was seventeen).  She did everything early:  crawled, walked, talked.  She was reading before she started kindergarten.  It was apparent very early on that the world was her oyster.  She could do anything she put her mind to . . . . and do it well.  With an ease and grace that made me proud, oh so proud . . . and envious.

She matured quickly.  She has always been wise beyond her years.  A leader.  A non-conformist.  Wicked smart, funny, intuitive, with a grounded down-to-earth approach to everything she does.  I have seen her intimidate grown men . . . . more than once.  Yes, it's fun to watch, it's also challenging as hell to rear such a creature.

Aware of this, I have always been very intentional and purposeful in my dealings with her.  She was raised to be independent:  she could do her own laundry and cook a simple meal at ten years of age.  She could stay at home alone at an age that most would consider neglectful.  She was just always so responsible.  We have always had an honest and candid relationship.  I knew the first time she kissed a boy, when she started her period, when she was offered illicit substances, etc..  She knows my past, my mistakes, my regrets, and my accomplishments.  We talk about everything. 

The fact that she is so smart and does not "demand" anything has proven to be a challenge in her adolescence.  Half the time I am stuck deciding whether to shake her or kiss her.  Sadly, I don't instinctively know what she needs any more.  I just know what I want for her, and luckily, it aligns with what she wants for herself.  This young lady has the world at her feet and fails to recognize that what she has goin' on is nothing short of effin' magic.  She has so many opportunities and so much potential.  It thrills me and makes me want to strangle her at the same time.  I often wonder if she sees what I see:  that she is brilliant, gorgeous, talented, driven, and can literally be any thing she wants to be.  She has accomplished more this school year than most people do in their high school careers.  And she makes it seem effortless.

I do know this:  when she crosses the threshold of this house, she will have been raised.  She knows right from wrong.  She knows that bad decisions come with bad consequences and vice versa.  She knows that she can soar or plummet, it's her choice.  And she knows that she will always have a place to call home--no matter what.

And I hope she knows and feels this:  that she always has been and always will be my first true love.



*When Morgan was little she called her dolls "bebas" because she couldn't say "babies".  I, in turn, started calling her "Beba" and it stuck.  She will forever be known as "Beba" in my family.