The 21st Century SAHM

This past Valentines Day I remembered something that had happened one year ago. I didn’t write about it last year, because, frankly, I was embarrassed. I had made a mistake—one that impacted my relationship with my daughter, about something that should have never been an issue.

She was four at the time, and at the height of pinks and hearts and frills and princesses. And her Valentines Day party at preschool was coming up. I came across a dress online and it jumped off the screen, screaming my daughter’s name. It was pink and fluffy and girly and covered with hearts. It was perfect for Valentines Day. The matching necklace and headband were an extra bonus.

I had never bought her clothes online before, as I am not much of a shopper, nor am I a frilly girly-girl. She wears a lot of hand-me-downs, and the pretty dresses she does have usually come from the sale rack at Target or Kohl’s. Mom is pretty low-key with that kind of stuff.

So this was a big event for her, but more importantly, for me. I was going outside my usual boring, comfortable box, and splurging on something special that I knew she would love. I couldn’t wait to see her face the day of the party.

The day finally arrived (the box had been hidden in my laundry room for weeks). She was going to squeal with joy. She was going to run upstairs to put it on and twirl around the living room, showing us all how beautiful she looked. (I thought.)

Only she didn’t. She hated it. I couldn’t believe it. This moment that I had been anticipating for weeks was ruined. She didn’t like the feel of the fabric, and as soon as she put the dress on, she couldn’t wait to rip it off.

Here’s where I messed up. I made her wear it. Why? Because it was a waste of money if she didn’t? Because I wanted to teach her a lesson about appreciating a gift?

No. I made her wear it because this moment was actually about me. I was so excited about my gift making her happy. And when it didn’t, I was hurt. I was devastated. And I manifested that disappointment into forcing her to go to school in tears in a dress she hated. On the day of her big party.

My stomach was in knots until I picked her up, as I knew what I had done. As soon as we returned home, I told her I was sorry. And that she could take it off. And here’s the most gut-wrenching part: She apologized to me. “I’m sorry, Mommy. I’m sorry I didn’t like it,” she said.

What lesson did I teach her that day? That she is a not allowed a voice in her appearance? That in our screwed up world where women fight insecurities and judgments every day about what they look like, that my daughter has to wear something she doesn’t want to because her mom’s feelings are hurt? Or that she should be sorry for asserting her opinion?

All of those things. I taught her all of things that day, and every day since, I’ve worked to un-teach them. I vowed that day to stop fighting with my daughter over anything superficial. There are battles that remain non-negotiable: She must wear her seatbelt. She cannot eat fruit snacks for dinner. But clothes? And her hair? Not anymore. From that day on, I have worked to keep my promise—to let her voice, her opinion, be heard.

Most importantly, I am committed to teaching her that what truly matters, what makes her special—and it’s not a dress and matching headband.