"I don't know, Mom," she tells me late at night, sweet tears falling on her cheeks as we lie together in bed before she falls asleep. "I don't want to have to be a nobody and I don't want to have to be a somebody to have a good life. I just want to be an ordinary girl."
An ordinary girl.
I wonder what it means while she lets me hold her close. She is so bright, so articulate, so wise, so funny. I know I'm her mother, but really--is there any way on earth she could ever be mistaken for someone ordinary? Could that even be possible?
I think I know what she's saying. Too many distinctions between you and the girl next door, and it's hard to feel close to the people around you. Ask any child who merits extra attention in any direction--being special garners with it a certain kind of loneliness and more than a little careful handling. Nobody needs that. Especially when you are ten and above all things in need of belonging--mostly with the grownups who you wish to see you exactly as you are. Nothing more, nothing less.
It's easy to worry about Madeleine--especially at this age. I want her to succeed, to achieve, to find her way in the world with a kind of blissful happiness. But tonight I heard her ask for something more--permission to grow and be at her own pace in her own way, no special effort attached to being anything else but herself. An ordinary girl.
What could be more special than that?
Have something to say about your own ordinary girl? Comments are all yours in the space below.