Raising little girls

I saw her before I could hear her. Head slumped forward, curls damp and covering her tear-stained face. As she got closer, I saw her little shoulders heaving with each strained "Momma. Momma. Momma." She crawled into my lap, hugging fiercely onto my neck. Her voice, muffled from being buried into my chest, slowly choked out "She says she is not my best friend. She's not my best friend. She said she has a new best friend."

We had only been at the park for about an hour, meeting one of B's preschool friends -  a girl who B has spoken about with love and reverence since the first day of school. When I have visited the classroom, they have been constant companions - holding hands on the playground, sitting by each other at lunch, hugging goodbye in the carpool lane. Today, though, a third girl was on the playground and suddenly B found herself on the outside of a friendship triangle. And as her heart broke, so did mine.

It is startling to me that already, at the tender age of three, the cliques and friendship ranking has already started. It was just six months ago the babies didn't care who they played with and now we hear frequently about who is "best friends" with whom and how the playground hierarchy fell out that day.

I want to wrap B and her sensitive soul in a bubble. Protect her from the onslaught that is coming. Because if it is like this now... how will middle school be? High school? There is no bubble to be had, though. And I know I can't fight her battles for her. The best I can do is guide her - to be confident in who she is, to love herself, to love others around her even when it is hard.

I wince thinking of all the times I have felt left out or friendless. I spent most of my high school years feeling like a complete misfit, not sure where - if anywhere - I fit in. Girls could be mean and those teenage friendships were often fraught with unnecessary drama. I wince even harder thinking of my role in it all. When I was unkind. Or uninviting. Or unforgiving. I think most women, looking back, will tell you they were both victim and aggressor, they dished it out even though they knew intimately how horrible it was to be on the receiving end.

So now, here I am, 31. With friendships that are decades old, tried and true. And new friends that have battled mommyhood with me, forging our bond in the fire of sleepless nights and teething babies and lost pregnancies and the constantly changing roles of who we are at this stage of life. And I think, for the first time in my life, I feel truly content with who I am and the relationships I have. But every now and then, I feel that awkward little girl creeping back in. Reminding me that not everyone wants to play. Not everyone wants to be my friend. That fundamentally there must be some flaw in me.

And I look at my precious girls and want more for them. I want more than insecurity and self-doubt and cattiness and striving to measure up to self-imposed, ridiculous standards. Every morning we sit in carpool, B and I pray the same prayer together.

Thank you for this beautiful day, for the opportunity to go to school and learn. Please help it to be a wonderful day - for me to learn and have fun. To be safe. And please help me to feel Christ's love and also be an example of Christ's love to others. 

Silently, I pray my own prayer for my girls. That they would learn kindness and compassion far younger than I did. That their skins would be thicker but their hearts bigger. That they live an inclusive life, always being a friend to the friendless. That no matter what comes, they remember they are perfect and loved in the eyes of not only their parents but of their Heavenly Father. That somehow, in some way, as I battle my own tendencies and insecurities, I can be a positive example for them. And that if anyone ever does create a bubble to protect their little hearts, I can be first in line to get one.