On Being A Daughter...

Love

Before Finley was born, Mark and I called my bump, LilyFinn. Lily for a girl and Finley for a boy. But from the minute my pregnancy was confirmed I was convinced I was having a girl for a long list of retrospectively, stupid reasons - I'm a girly girl so there was no way I could possibly give birth to a boy, and aside from that Gabriel was the bestest little boy in the whole wide world and I didn't want a son of my own to have to compete...

At twenty weeks we went for our scan. Before we had even been asked whether we wanted to know the sex of our child, the radiographer told her collegue: "Theres the heart, there's the lungs and there's his little prick". I was absolutely gobsmacked!!!  How totally inappropriate and inconsiderate can you be? But after the shock, came total and absolute disappointment...

I do know that it isn't the done thing to wish for one sex or the other. That the  standard answer to "Do you want a boy or a girl" is "I don't mind as long as it is healthy". I know that. But I didn't say it. I wanted a girl with every inch of my being. I wanted a daughter, and more than that  I wanted the kind of relationship I have with my Mum. I wanted a girl who felt about me, the way I do about my Mum. I wanted to be loved like that.

I don't know how to put into words what it is to be a daughter of a woman like my Mum. I know now what is to be a Mother, but I am still struggling to understand the bond that exist's within the complex and fragile relationship between a Mother and her daughter. I don't know what it is to be a daughter above and beyond the fact that it is astonishing to be blessed enough to walk in the footsteps of an incredible woman.

It is no secret in our house that I am A Daddy's girl. I look like him, think like him, even have his nose (according to my Dad!!). But I am her Daughter, and it is her strength, her precarious, fragile strength that runs through my veins.  It is her I want to be when I grow up.

She is the kind of woman other women always wanted to be. She is and always has been shockingly beautiful, though at the age of fifty five, she is only just beginning to realise it. But I don't think that it matters. Her life has been what it has, she is the person she is because she didn't know it. 

Look at her now: see how her hands are always moving- containing the nerves others who don't know her, would never imagine are there.  She is complicated and delicate and occasionally, I rightfully feel that I hardly know her at all, and I think that this is what being a daughter is about. Not friendship. Nor admiration. But a love so fierce for a woman you can never really know, at least not in the way you are given the opportunity to know every other woman you will ever meet.   

Part of me thinks that my Lily is still out there somewhere. But I will never meet her. She is a possibility now passed, and if we are blessed with a little girl in the future, she won't be called Lily.  The day of the scan, I went straight to Mum's house and cried for hours in my her arms. Although I was all grown up, and carrying a child of my own, I was for a moment, a little girl again, seeking the kind of reassurance only a Mother can provide.  Five month's later, it is my Mums face I remember as she rushed down the hosital corridor to meet her newly born grandson, and the photograph I treasure most, a close up of Finley, just one hour old, with my hand gripping his and my Mum's gripping mine. I am her. She is me.

She, who I need most.

Happy Birthday Mum.