Unmasked

In the mornings, I creep into her bedroom to steal one last look at her peacefully dreaming,

Curled up and quiet

Knowing that when she awakens she’ll be all gangly legs and attitude

She lives in that delicate place in childhood where she is unabashedly confident and yet

needing her mother’s reassurance at every turn

In the evenings every conversation is a minefield

Dinner is a negotiation, bedtime a losing battle

I’ve somehow forgotten not to negotiate with tiny terrorists

Stall tactics, manipulation and psychological warfare

Hours later in the dark, I am overcome with flashbacks of past battles, none of which have a clear winner,

All parties exhausted with bruised egos and tear-stained cheeks

In the mornings, as I shower away the previous night’s grime and sins and disappointments,

I imagine slipping on the slick tub’s porcelain

What would it feel like to go down

Suspended for a fraction of an instant

And then crashing down in a dazzling display of splayed limbs and shooting streams of water

I want to be present

I want to get out of my own way and be the parent I needed mine to be

But they were imperfect, as am I

They did what they thought was best, as do I

Neither of us truly incorrect

Neither of us fully grasping the consequences of our actions

The waves of inadequacy crashing along the shores of the best laid plans

In my child I recognize all of the hopes and dreams of my youth

She feels so deeply that any dissent is an act of treason

My deepest fear is that one day Mommy will no longer be the super hero

With cape gently flapping in the breeze

What do I do when I’m unmasked and she exposes me for the villain that I am

There is no instruction manual in my utility belt