Some days you'd think we were feral alley cats attempting to prove who's in charge....and you'd be right. We don't disagree. We embark in long, drawn-out battles where feelings get hurt (mine), names are called (at me), and tears are shed (mine).
Other days you'd think we're best friends who grew up together....and again, you'd be right. I was 18 when I found out I was pregnant, and 19 when I gave birth. While my friends were sucking down beer at keg parties in college, my child was sucking down milk in marathon breast-feeding sessions. We grew together; both of us children on a journey to figure each other out.
Our agreement is this: "I want you to know that you can come to me and tell me anything. I may at times be angry, dissapointed or confused, but I always want you to tell me. And always remember, as close as we are as friends, I am your mother first." Granted, she's only 8, but we stick to it pretty well. We have an extremely honest relationship, sometimes by force.
She is my girl.
I love her endlessly.
