There have to be at least eight million and twelve reasons it's hard, but the one I'm thinking about today is watching your children make the same mistakes you did.
Who am I kidding? She's eight-- it's not that she's making my mistakes, it's that she IS me. She shares some of my better qualities, but she shares some of my not-so-better ones, too, and it's those that distress me. She's so hard on herself, setting such high expectations. She hates to do anything she can't already do well (and she expects herself to master everything in one take). She is less-than-athletically-talented. She is so quick to anger and has no idea what to do with all that rage. (Actually, I don't know if that's like me or not. I certainly don't remember being so angry at 8, but there's no one to confirm or deny that impression.)
The one that gets me, though, is her serial friendships. She complains that she has no friends, that no one likes her, and I remember feeling just that way. She can only manage one major friendship at a time, and I was like that, too.
I wish I could give her the wisdom that I have now: no need to hitch your wagon to only one friend. The fact that they have other friends doesn't mean they can't be yours, too. You have plenty of love to give, and you can share it with more than one friend at one time.
Wouldn't do any good, though. Wouldn't have done any good for me, either.
Meh. Mothering is hard.
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