When my oldest was born, she was the most precious thing I had ever seen. I was in a pickle though. We didn't take any baby classes before her arrival. It wasn't that I didn't think I needed them, it was just I was full speed ahead finishing my degree and teaching full time. My husband had never changed a diaper, although he might have held a baby at some point. So when they told us it was time to name her, we told the dear lady we needed more time. When she came back 30 minutes later paperwork in hand, we had a name.
They told us it was time to leave the hospital, and I distinctly remember feeling vulnerable, and what the world- they are letting us leave with her?! The joke of where is the manual for this kid, yeah, that was us.
Both my husband and I come from a long line of Southern women, and given that we were blessed with a girl, you tend to do what you know. Smocked dresses, booties, ruffled diaper covers. Matching hair bows for each outfit. It didn't matter if I was too busy to do these things. We have two southern grandmas to help us out.
Back then, as any southern woman would tell you, I drank my tea straight up sweet. Does it come any other way, y'all? I've always liked strong tea, too. Ironically we found we only make strong girls.
My girls are sweet, too. They have a sweet spirit that occasionally erupts into fighting and screaming, but mostly, they really care about people. The kindness shows when they forgive me. "Mommy, I will always forgive you. You are mine," melting my heart and melding it with Jesus.
Then, then you have a second child. One that grows and grows and grows and you read new books. "Lord, how do I teach this one?" Your patience is tested as they both grow and you think, "Wow. Parenting is definitely not for sissies."
And you take her to ballet, and the girls are twirling in unison and she is making up her own moves, like Mick Jagger in the mirror, throwing in a twirl here and there because it is ballet, of course. The parents give me sideways glances and I just smile and say to myself, "Wait. Your time might be coming..." Always dancing to her own beat. Speaks up truth and hasn't learned tact quite yet. You find yourself saying, "Haha! I love this one and her spice! Speak it!"
About this time my dear friend introduced me to Chai tea. The timing was impeccable as this little one was really growing more spicy and I was switching up my tune. Throwing in some spice here and there, laying off the sugar and taking it straight up bitter. Strong. With my pinkie up, of course.
I grew more and more aware of how early sexism starts having these little girls. One of my girls might have a "moment" and I got comments. (Well, let's say I still get comments.) "Oh the drama!" "Boys are so much easier." Or, "You just wait until they go through puberty!" (Insert eye roll.)
The man in the paint store who looks at my girls with their strollers, playing, "Oh, I am SO glad I don't have girls!" You give him a, "Well, good thing the Good Lord knew you couldn't handle one." And he's taken off guard and you just don't care because these ignorant comments are coming more and more frequently and he's talking about a blessing. My blessed child.
These girls have selective time with these individuals, but they hear these comments. They both have good memories and they see mama fighting, nicely, but albeit, fighting for them. They are slowly being introduced to a society where it's ugly. We will have conversations about sex trafficking. About domestic violence. About orphans and rape and terrible terrible things and you want to end every conversation with Come Lord Jesus. But they need to hear. They need to fight.
These small tastes are blessings. They allow me to prepare their hearts, their minds for a world they will enter where evil happens. They teach them mama and their strong daddy won't let others talk negatively about them. Turning the other cheek, but showing that they are warriors, standing for what is right.
I suppose none of us entered into this important job because it was easy. Perhaps boys are "easier". I wouldn't know. Honestly? I just don't care. If I had a boy I'd speak of boys and he would have my heart just like these girls, I'm sure of it.
All I know is I am blessed. I am a fighter. To make use of a perhaps overused analogy, I am a warrior.
While Krav Maga is on my bucket list, until then I am teaching these girls to fight. With their words. With their hearts. With their minds. With their prayers. With their God.
Standing strong for a world that needs strong female fighters, alongside strong males, united in spirit. Strong in the body, strong in the mind, strong in the spirit.
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