Confessions of a Daughterless Mother

Her face was tight. Stern creases edged between her eyebrows. Lines etched across her forehead, promising to deepen over time.   Sylvia! I told you to stay here. Why can't you fricking listen? If you can't listen you can't come with me anymore.   She grabbedSylvia's hand, reefing on her arm in anger. She readjusted the baby on her hip. Sighing. Gasping for collective parental patience and air. She was being swallowed alive by life in the middle of Meijer. I recognized her. I recognized the sideways glances she took once she exploded on her daughter. The did-anyone-see-me-i-am-not-always-like-this look.  The one that begs people to not judge, to understand, to be patient with her in ways she wasn't patient with her child. My instinct to say, It's okay, momma. She won't want to go with you very much longer.  was squashed by her sharp edges. She didn't want my help. She didn't want solidarity or patience.  She wanted the hell out of there, yesterday

People have long told me I would be so happy that I didn't have daughters, that the drama and chaos of daughters in the house far outweighs the joys and besides, boys are so much easier. Bullshit. I am a believer that it depends more on the kid's personality, brain chemistry and environment and not on their gender to determine how difficult their journey to adulthood (and beyond) will be. And here's the thing, when you tell me that my sons are easy, when you tell me your daughters are harder, you undermine you.  You undermine me.  (And when you tell me girls are so much harder and such a pain in the ass with your daughter standing right there it makes me want to punch you in the face and give her a high five for being difficult for you). For God's sakes if you think boys are easy - you aren't paying attention. Our boys are struggling with anxiety and depression at alarming rates, being a boy does not preclude you from pain, drama or chaos. It does not isolate