To My Daughter, on Turning One Week

Dear Selah,

One week ago tonight, I was gazing in wonder on your beautiful wrinkled newborn face. It had been only hours since you'd entered the world-outside-the-womb, and I was completely in awe and in love. Today, I still caress your sweet new skin and nuzzle you lovingly, amazed that I've been gifted with you as my daughter. But I also weep because I realize I do not know how to raise a daughter. Technically I've been parenting your oldest sister for 16 years, but the reality is: I don't know what the heck I'm doing. 

I look at who I am as a woman, as a person, and feel so incredibly small and worthless. I'm surrounded by intelligent, frequently very well-educated people and next to them, I feel like nothing. When people talk to me, they don't ask about what I'm thinking or studying. They don't have any idea if I have an area of expertise. Instead I get asked about my kids. About my pregnancy, or my delivery. And then conversation shuts down. In fact, people don't even want to sit with me in the communal dining room here. I am such a nothing. Your dad also doesn't talk to me like he talks to others. He gets very animated when discussing Islam, history or theology with folks here at Tantur. But with me, the extent of inquiry is, "How was school today?" 

And frankly it's true. I am pretty much just a Mom these days. I sat in an armchair this morning with you nursing and Miriam trying to claim the other half of my person. I had the 11-year-old and the 16-year-old simultaneously asking me for help with their school work, and Josiah also sat nearby in the room working. And I thought, "Here I am -- surrounded with my FIVE children. And I can't handle it!" I felt physically swamped. So if I'm not taking the time to learn new things or think world-changing thoughts, why should it bother me that I'm labeled thus: MOM. 

It's partly because I want more for YOU. You're my last daughter. I don't want you and your sisters to have the same feelings that I do. I want you to be fulfilled and content. I want you to know joy and peace, in whatever path you choose (or chooses you) in life. It's not that I think mothering isn't worthwhile or worthy of respect. It's not that I actually regret my path, or wish I'd pursued a rigorous career instead of what I'm doing. I just wish that the people around me saw me for all that I am, and not just the role they've assigned to me. And I wish that for you as well, sweet little girl.

I'm not worthy to parent you three daughters. I truly have no idea what I'm doing. And unfortunately, you'll be watching me struggle through my own issues as you grow up. I just hope that you come out better in the end, and that you find better role models than what you have in me. Love, Mama