I don’t know if there’s anything in my life that brings me through my full range of emotions like Juliet does at 7.  Just watching her move about her life brings me a joy that I never knew possible before she was born. Catching a glimpse of her dancing or checking out her outfit in front of the mirror makes my heart flutter. She loves organizing a “show” for the rest of the family…a fashion show or puppet show or a dance routine. She’s a natural organizer, putting people in their places, giving her siblings orders, making sure everything is just right. 

My first born, and definitely full of first born energy. Sweet, kind, a natural leader, and rule follower. Always concerned with the group…Is her brother happy? Is her sister happy? Are mom and dad happy? When it’s her turn to pick a movie or what we are going to eat, I regularly tell her “don’t negotiate against yourself.” It’s hard for her to just say what SHE wants. She’s so natural at taking care of her siblings that I need to make sure it’s not happening too much. I don’t want to rob her of the magic of childhood by burdening her with the responsibility to take care of the other kids in the house.

Sometimes when I’m driving, I’ll look back in the rear view mirror and see her looking out the window, and I swear I can feel the weight of the thoughts behind her eyes. I’d kill to know exactly what she’s thinking, but of course she will never tell me. But thinking, she is. Always. I worry she’s ruminating too much. Too in her own head.

I’m probably projecting that onto her, and I honestly hope that’s the case. I worry about her because she reminds me so much of how I was as a kid. So far, Juliet is the most like me at this age. Despite my best efforts, she seems to have inherited a lot of the neuroses that I struggled with as a kid. The difficulty in talking about how she feels. The fear of new things. The unconscious (and helpless) need for control.   The reliance and comfort of routine. The obsessive compulsive obsession with texture and the tactile feel of things on her skin. 

Some of the things she deals with remind me so sharply of my own internal battles as a kid, that I think there must be a genetic reason for it. I know my dad had it. In reality, it’s probably the case that like she learned these behaviors from me. That I implanted some of my biggest struggles into her psyche. And man, that’s really tough for me to deal with sometimes. 

When I was younger, I was jealous of people that seemed to enjoy life in an easy breezy way. It’s hard for me to describe, but especially growing up and in my twenties, I observed that other people just had an easier time being happy. They weren’t over-analyzing everything all the time. They didn’t feel the impending doom of the end when they were in the having a good time. I struggled with OCD as an adolescent…and not the kind of OCD people talk about where you keep your closet neatly organized…the kind where before bed, you need to flip the light switch back and forth exactly 10 times, unless it didn’t feel quite right so you have to do it 10 more times, and again and again until you’ve been flipping the light switch for 20 minutes and you’re starting to have a panic attack because you’re never going to be able to go to bed.

I’ve spent a lot of time in my adult life, especially since having kids, working on this. Today I would say that I’m genuinely happier than almost anyone I meet. I’ve learned to enjoy the moment and be grateful in real time. 

But to think that I’ve signed up my daughter for a lifelong battle with her own mind breaks my heart. I’m sure it’s a natural thing to want as a parent; for your kids to have an easier go at it than you did. I try to remind myself that the same mental battles I went through are what has built the resilient spirit that I have today. She is strong, she can handle it, and she will be better for it.

And needless to say, I should have the most patience and sympathy for Juliet when I see her struggle with the same things I struggle with. But of course, when I see my own shortcomings mirrored in my children, it drives me crazy and I lose my patience.

Juliet will always be unique amongst my children because of how much she reminds me of my dad. Just like my dad, she can’t bear to say “I love you.” You can just see how it makes her skin crawl. When I pester her enough to say it, she does it with the same “ohhhhh fine” eye roll and smirk that my dad did when my mom would get him to say it.  

When Juliet was born, Sarah and I lived about an hour and a half away from both of our parents. My dad was dealing with a recent diagnosis of myelofibrosis, a rare bone marrow blood cancer, that made his future very uncertain. He had just reached the mandatory minimum age to receive a pension from his company, and he made the choice to retire so that he could travel to our house and babysit Juliet a couple days per week. He would drive in and stay the night, so we would get to do dinner with him every week.

That was truly such an incredible time in our lives, and I am forever grateful for the time we got to spend with my dad. It was certainly hard to see him slowly get sicker. But the sadness was far outweighed by the joy of seeing a version of my dad I had never met before, or at least couldn’t remember. It was like Juliet injected a new sense of energy and love into him. He was so playful, so happy with her. Constantly telling her how much he loved her. By the time she was a couple years old, they already had their own inside jokes. They were best buddies. They had a connection that I can only describe as supernatural.

We saw my dad carry forward that love and energy as he continued his babysitting duties with Malcolm and Whitney in the following years. But there will always be something special to me about seeing him form a bond with Juliet. It was transformational for him. It made the last five years of his life with us remarkable. The best of my years with him, and I think he would say the best of his.

Sometimes when I’m with Juliet, usually in a quiet moment together, I can feel his spirit there with us. It’s like I can feel him emanating from her, and I’m grateful.

Even though I definitely worry too much about her, Juliet’s first 7 years have been the best of my life. I’m so proud of her. I see her putting herself out there, making friends, trying new things. She has a great sense of humor and is quick with a snappy reply to make me laugh.  She loves to be goofy, loves to play tricks on people, and is quick to laugh big.

It’s cliche, but maybe the hardest part is accepting how fast the time goes by. I’m just trying to settle into the moment and enjoy every day with her. I know we are in the middle of the good ol’ days right now.