but I’m going to sit on it with you and we’re going to look into each other’s eyes.” “What??”, she screams, “No! NO! I’m not!! I’m not going to!” What new horrible torture have I come up with now? I take her
by the wrist, her thin bird-like wrist. She resists, but only feebly, and I get the sense it’s more for show. She sits in the corner and I sit down opposite her, the timer set. The first two minutes she struggles and fights. Her eyes dart
around evading mine with a panicky look in them. I sit calmly before her and go into my heart space; fill the vessel at my core until it overflows with the love I feel for my daughter; remember the first time I held her...
“You have the most beautiful eyes”, I say to her. I’ve told her this before many times. Shyly she makes eye contact for the first time. She looks doubtful, confused, hurt.
“When you were born I used to just sit and hold you. Do you know that? I just sat and looked at you for hours and hours. All I wanted to do in the world was just sit and look at you, my precious little baby.” Her face puckers with emotion and the tears begin to spill from her eyes. “Do you know how special you are Charlotte? This feeling in
your chest; can you feel it?” She nods. The tears are running like rivers down her face. “You are an artist sweetheart. You will always have big feelings, strong emotions. Sometimes they will feel like a huge storm passing through you, but don’t ever be afraid of them.”
“I don’t want to be an artist”, she says in a small voice, “I don’t want to lose my temper. It’s scary.”
“You don’t have to be scared of these feelings”, I say. “I love you, with all my heart and I will always be here for you. These strong feelings, they’re your special gift. Don’t ever be afraid to feel them, no matter what anyone says.” She falls towards me and hugs me, sobbing, finally letting her
guard down. Ah, there it is – a flicker of intuition of what’s driving her... “I know you want to be different”, I say, “but don’t sabotage yourself. Don’t cut yourself off from these big feelings, just to be different.” She looks at me. “I know you get it”, I tell her, “You say things all the time that are amazing, that we are made of love for instance... We have such wonderful things to do together, you and I.” The timer goes. We get on with our day, but I can sense that
something has changed. Charlotte is quiet. At night I go to turn off her light. “I want to look into your eyes again”, Charlotte says. She is smiling and I laugh. “When can we sit on the naughty spot together again Mummy?”n
Katie Little can sum up her childhood in two words: not average, not least because her mother is Australian icon Jeanne Little. Katie is working on a memoir and writes about parenthood, relationships and staying sane in an insane world.
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photo by Matthew Rolston
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