Leaving the nest

Ever since I was 15, I wanted to leave the family nest. Sheltered and protected by doting parents, I was in love with the idea of making it on my own. To them, I was always their little girl, even after I got married and had a daughter.
Sounds strange, at least it did to people who knew our family, but then that’s the way parents can be with daughters. Though I basked in the affection, I always nursed the desire to break free and assert my individuality.
I wanted to be a woman, not a little girl. After University, I spent years doing just what I thought would reinforce my individuality. All the protection and pampering fanned a rebellious spirit that grew fiercer every day, till I had a daughter.
Watching the precious little bundle with awe, I felt a million emotions tugging my heartstrings. As I touched her gently, afraid of even turning over at night for fear of hurting her, I saw myself as the baby and my mother cradling me in her arms, like I was doing with my baby.
Finally I realized what I meant to her. All those times when I was stopped from staying out late, when my dad would peer suspiciously at the guys I met, when my mother would fuss about my hair, my skin, my report card……..everything, replayed in my mind.
As I went through the taxing moments that come with motherhood, forcing myself to stay awake at night when my infant daughter chose to, getting up bleary eyed the next morning to cook her breakfast, wash her, change her, rock her to sleep till my back hurt……………part of my mind viewed my mother in the same situation, with me in her arms.
Then I finally asked myself, “was it so bad being her darling?” There may have been moments, especially in my teens when she might have overdone the protection. But then, it was meant to make sure I met no harm.
A sneeze from me would have mom calling the doctors. After the first aid, she would start the regimen of giving me ginger tea, making me take steam every now and then and gently ruffle my hair when I complained of discomfort. This continued well into my adulthood. Mother worked. After a nine to five job, with an hour long lunch break in which she would rush home to be with me, she would hold me close at night, her warmth lulling me to sleep no matter how sick I were. That would also mean she could not sleep well. But she never mentioned it, I only came to know now. Today, a sneeze means I have to have an aspirin and continue working or approach my boss tentatively to see if I can take the day off.
While I still hold my independence dear, the resentment at being the “doll” of my family has been replaced by a sense of immense gratitude. In a world torn with heartache, I received more love than I deserved. I have no words to thank my parents, who just left for their native state for good. The umbilical cord has been cut, and I feel like I am out of the womb for the first time. I feel naked.
All I can do is make sure my daughter gets what I got, loads of love. I ruffle her lovely curls the way my mother did, I hold her close at night the way I was held, I show her stars at night, the way my father did.
One day, I hope to see her as a strong and honest person, like my mother.