Daughters

What can I say about motherhood that no other mother can say.  I never thought about having or wanting children much less a daughter or daughters.
I never thought of myself as the motherly type. The one who over indulges her senses by dressing up her little girls in dainty dresses with bows and ribbons. Who tells them they will one day marry a prince; although I did have Prince Harry lined up for my youngest and Prince William for my oldest, until I saw what happened to Princess Diana. I actually came across a Christmas recording of our family opening gifts just when my daughters received the Disney Snow White movie from a relative. I found myself saying on the tape:  I thought about getting this for you, but I decided that I didn't want you to grow up to marry a prince. It's better to be the queen.

When I was growing up, I always thought I would be another Michelangelo. The female one. I had talent, but I learned too late that talent alone is not enough; it needs an agent or a selling outlet. Artists are not great self promoters. Maybe it wasn't too late; maybe it was just my destiny. I never planned my goals further than getting out of Mississippi and staying out.

To be an artist is to be self-absorbed and a mother cannot afford to be. An artist is selfish and a mother can't always be; even if she wants to be and can afford to be self-absorbed.  Art can be a vehicle that transports an artist through a world of self-indulgence, fame, and immortality. For me, it's a very personal creative outlet to express what I think should be a universal thought. 

Instead I find myself on a completely different road of twists and turns that are not in my nature. That is, being a mother. A mother to daughters. There are great mothers and there are not so great mothers. I never ever thought of myself as a good mother; much less great one, of course. There is a talent to being a mother too; just like, being an artist.

I did not fall into being an artist. I was born that way.  I did fall into motherhood. When one is falling into anything; one loses ones mind momentarily.  I am still falling.
On the days that I feel I have landed, I ask myself. How did I get here? 

In between all the questions there are a few answers. I must have been a fairly good mother as my daughters have not completely banned me from their face book page; and yes, I have been deleted a few times when leaving 'motherly' embarrassing comments. My daughters like coming home to visit for a short time. The bad mother in me wants them to stay away so I can be that self-indulgent artist.

Obviously I did transfer my creativity to my daughters; sometimes in an odd way. Maybe my oldest daughter gets her schizophrenia-bipolar symptoms from me; an illness that did not quite transfer completely into the abnormal behavior of an artist.  Both of them, gladly, like to drag my withering mind along into their world of adventure if only to keep me from falling back into a state of senility so they won't have to take care of me in my old age. It's up to me if I want to open up my mind to new experiences or just sit on the fence.

Last night my youngest daughter encouraged me to draw again while she drew in her notebook. You would think a mother would be encouraging her daughter; but we are beginning that mother daughter transference; in which the oldest becomes the kid and the youngest, becomes the adult.
I always knew God was a little schizophrenic when he created mankind or how else did we get so  mentally reversible within one life time. No sane person would do this to themselves.

God has the ultimate imagination and anything a human can imagine or create will never come close. I thought I was a very good artist with a great imagination, until I saw my daughters growing up into amazon like creatures compared to my diminutive frame. I wonder how anyone could ever imagine; much less create, a human being that could possibly come out of a small orifice.
Maybe He is just a little perverted; after all, since I still haven't quite gotten over the body positions we have to get into; in order, to create another human being. What's up with that? Why can't we just poke each other in the arm?

If my daughters knew I was writing this; they would not be horrified because they do have my creative mind that only God could have imagined.