I’m afraid of my daughter

It occurred to me this week that I’m a teeny bit afraid of my nine-year-old.

Not the kind of fear that sends you to a closet to hide, or to your purse for pepper spray. Just the kind that has me avoiding situations of confrontation because I’m afraid she’ll outsmart me. I see it unfold in my head and quickly take a different, easier path.

I know I’m not alone. My friends, mostly those with daughters (sorry boys!), have admitted to lax parenting for the sole purpose of dodging an argument with their darling child.

My girl gets far more “passes” than my folks would have EVER given me. In fact, I’m pretty sure my generation wasn’t given any at all. “No” meant “no”, and they meant it the first time.

For some of us, “no” is a suggestion—a general statement indicating our preference, and the first phase of negotiation. I’ve heard myself following up my “no” with:

… And I really mean it this time.

…. If I have to say it one more time, there’s going to be trouble.

… I know I said “no”, but fine. You just better not try that again.

… One … two … three … three and a half …

I’m mostly on point with my parenting (In my head at least). I can admit to more great moments than mess-up moments, which is all I’m really aiming for. But that occasional screw-up rate is pretty embarrassing. Particularly, since most of these failings occur in public, and usually in front of a grandparent, aunt or uncle. The no-nonsense generation that likely thinks we’re just a bunch of wusses.

Here’s the thing. My daughter is just so darn sharp. She’s always ten steps ahead with great negotiating skills and excellent street smarts. One of her favourite tactics is to pull on my heart strings. As soon as she detects a hint of trouble she launches into her now prepared speech, accompanied by instant tears. I’m not certain how she manages tears that flow so quickly, but they’re always perfectly timed with the following statement: “I’m only 9 years old. I don’t know everything. I’m just learning. How would I know?” Even though I’ve heard this plea at least a hundred times, her delivery is so genuine that I’m suckered before she finishes. As I console her and tell her that I understand, I know I’ve been conned. Or have I?

She really is learning. The world, me, herself. I just hope that my weak moments will come across as supportive of her as a woman. Instead of feeling victorious, I hope she feels my compassion and knows that I love her deeply.

So, I’m sure I won’t be the first or last to step aside instead of taking her on. She’s going to be quite a force as a woman. Why would I try to discourage that?

I’m doing my best to find the balance between keeping her safe, happy, respectful, and kind, while allowing her to feel confidence in her own instincts and abilities. I want to encourage her strong spirit, not weaken it. It’s a tough balance, that’s for sure.

She just might rule the world one day. Maybe then I won’t be embarrassed to admit that the first person she ruled was me? Here’s hoping.

If your kids run your house, feel free to cry on my shoulder or vent below…