I'm the Mother

Growing up, whenever I was upset with my parents or felt they were being too strict or simply didn't comprehend why they were so concerned about the length of my skirt or the speed at which I drive, they always replied, "You'll understand when you have children." That statement drove me nuts because 1), it meant the conversation was closed, and 2), I didn't really get it.

I still don't have children, but a few years ago, I began to "get it." My mom had a Bat Mitzvah 3 years ago. There was a group of about 7 women from our Synagogue in CT-an adult Bat Mitvah class, if you will. As she walked up to the Bima and started her reading, my hands got sweaty, and I recognized instantly that this must have been what my parents felt like 15 years prior when it was me walking up to read from the Torah. I wanted my mom to do well because she had worked so hard. I wanted her to succeed, to be confident and relaxed because it was important to her, and moreover, because I loved her. In this moment, I began to understand the angst of being a parent and watching your child perform. My mother had become my daughter.

I had a similar experience this past Wednesday at my mom's dress fitting for her wedding. She picked me up at the train station that afternoon in Westport, and the second I got into the car she told me, "I'm sooo stressed. This dress-what if I hate it?" She then went into a five minute diatribe about how fat she would look and how she shouldn't have gotten blue or lace and that it's not sophisticated enough. There was no screaming or cursing--simply a typical bride freaking out repeating over and over, "Suzanne. I'm going to look like a blue blob!" At certain points I thought she was going to burst into tears. I had to call my grandparents to have them calm her down, which was a first for all of us, as those who know my mother can attest to her positive outlook, emotional stability and general "pollyanna-esque" attitude. She rarely freaks out, so this was almost unchartered territory.

Needless to say, she calmed down after the dress was on her (which I told her she would), and she was able to see for herself how exquisitely it fits. The pearl drop earrings and the bracelet looked stunning together and added just the right touch; I have never seen my mom look so pretty. In other words, I was kvelling.

I still found myself taking on the motherly role, though, and easing her fears that "no, it wasn't too tight," and "yes, the shoes look perfect," and "no, the bracelet and earrings don't have to be the exact same color, they look fine as they are," etc. etc (I will post pictures after the wedding).

I have a feeling that my maternal instincts will kick in again several times before the actual rings are exchanged, but truthfully, what are daughters for?