Another party to attend…a shelf full of floaty, dreamy, soft hued, light as clouds, classy chiffons, breezy cottons, magnificent velvets await. Proud and dainty the party frocks sit, ready to weave their spell, spread their cinderella dust.
A shelf which dilates my pupils with pleasure
A shelf which has her’s open wide with horror
“Tops and pants/jeans and t shirt maa?” my elf pleads with me every single time. Usually i give in, her huge enchanting doe eyes framed by that delicate bone structure renders me helpless…
Today the dresses beckon me. Like impatient princesses locked up in their ivory tower, they decide to charm me witless. With musical bewitching whispers they fill my eyes with a vision. A heart stopping lovely dimpled smile, careless tresses, fine angled, lean elf swathed in glorious frills…blossoming shoulders, nipped at the waist, voluminous flowing streams of lace….a vision in white…a vision of dazzling delight !
Bewitched, i decide to use my weapon, the evil weapon we mother’s posess (i fear to name it, deadly as it is!)
When jiyaa in all her innocence comes to get dressed, i unleash it upon her.
“You may go to the party, only if you wear this dress” i say with cold determined eyes (enamoured by the vision)
Her pleas fall on deaf ears. Her brimming tears fail to melt the evil heart. Helpless in the face of her mother’s authority, scared to face my ire and the ringing cheerful sounds of the upcoming party in her blood…she acquiesces
As i sow…so shall i reap…
I spend the entire party watching her in growing distress and guilt…
I watch as she trips, cannot jump, climb and fly with her usual ease, cannot sit with her legs splayed. I watch my usually vivacious, free as a bird, flying with all her spiritedness elf reduced to a dress adjsuting, misery etched, bowed under the weight of those snooty frills, valiantly attempting to join in the fun. Her eyes dull and cheerless, her rose bud mouth drooped and little worry lines between those fragile brows
My evil heart plummets and crashes against my glittering heels. The enamoured fog lifts from my eyes.
My vision of delight is simply my own. My vision of what i want my daugher to be, how i want her to look, and what i want her to achieve is to be taken apart piece by piece and crumpled to bits that fly off with the wise wind.
To be replaced by a vision of her own. Of what lifts her soul, of what sets her free, of what makes her breathe…of what makes her truly live
A vision of her own delight !
The shelf may catch dust. The dresses may fade to yellowed versions of themselves. Unless or untill they become part of her own aspirations….
But my elf shall not be bound or bowed down by my enforced dreams and ideals. A constant chant this shall be…drowning all the voices in my head…beguiled by my own desires..
A determined effort to feel her through her own eyes shall be my motherhood song…
Can’t to be too tough…considering i am in awe of those
oh so dear,
beautiful, child wise,