Hi! I’m Justine and I blog over at Little Dove Creations, a DIY/lifestyle blog where I blog about everything that helps make our house, our home. I’m a mom to three (soon to be four!)–my son who is 5, and my two daughters, aged 3 and 15 months. Big thanks to Beth for having me today so I could talk about my little girls, specifically my second born.
My frustration had hit a whole new high.
It wasn’t even noon and already I’d had to remind her that pee-pee goes in the potty, you don’t go outside without mommy or daddy, and you don’t drag your baby sister around by her leg, even if she is laughing about it.
And for the umpteenth time, pee-pee goes in the potty!
My voice was rising to a whole new level which I did not like.
I just don’t understand what’s so hard for her to grasp, I thought; I mean, it’s like she doesn’t listen to, or respect me at all.
I realize that she’s right at the “threeanger” stage, but this seems to go beyond that.
I might need a time out myself.
My first born, my son, was a very “typical boy” (sorry to gender stereotype, but I’m sure that by saying that you all know what I mean). From the time he could walk at 9 months we’d had a hard time keeping up with him.
Yes, walking at 9 months, very steadily I might add. Practically running really.
So when my daughter was born I was excited, I thought, “This will be great. With a girl I can relax a little bit, she’ll be much more calm and cooperative.” Even her labor went a lot more smoothly, only 12 hours instead of 19, and none of the dreaded Pitocin! This was surely a sign of things to come!
I quickly learned that each child is unique and has their own innate personality that begins to show itself from the day they arrive on this earth.
This sweet little princess that had slept peacefully in my arms and lulled me into a false sense of security that she would be my “easy” and “calm” one was now terrorizing the household. Although unlike her brother, she didn’t really walk until she was a year old, she quickly mastered running and climbing onto everything from toys, to their little kid’s table, to the counter height kitchen table.
And her exuberance is only matched by her volume.
Sure, she likes to dress up and loves her teddy bear, but she is happiest when she’s playing with toys cars and trains, or getting filthy outside in the dirt.
Don’t get me wrong, she is a sweetheart, typically the first to pitter-patter into our bedroom in the morning for snuggles, empathetic to the feelings of others (especially her siblings), and quick to ask to sing songs in the car.
And I have begun to see so much of myself in her.
Some of my favorite toys growing up were cars and Legos, who knows how many we had. Definitely more than Barbie dolls or Polly Pockets.
I, too, loved to climb when I was younger. Mom, I’m sorry for all the heart palpitations I surely caused.
There aren’t many white clothes in our closets, because I am all too aware of where she gets her messiness from.
That stubborn, strong-willed streak that she has a hard time controlling, I’v learned to keep in check (at least on the outside).
And, really, don’t we all have selective hearing to some degree?
I love all my children fiercely, and equally, but they all challenge me in different ways and have different lessons to teach me.
My Heavenly Father gently reminds me of my imperfections and I am trying to soften my heart to my precious second born, this little girl who is so much like I am.
Being a mom to two little girls has been an eye-opener for me, not because the experience has been so different from that with my son, but because it has been so similar. All of their personalities shine through boisterously.
And despite my girls’ fascination with bugs and the fact that you can find them with skinned knees more often than with combed hair, I wouldn’t call them “tomboys”, they’re just themselves–dirty, mischievous faces and all.
Thank you so much for sharing you heart Justine. The Lord uses my children to sanctify me on a daily basis, I can really relate to your story.
It is so refreshing to read the real stories of mother hood.
Messy, imperfect and beautiful.
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