Often we allow ourselves to be upset by small things we should despise and forget. We lose many irreplaceable hours brooding over grievances that, in a year’s time, will be forgotten by us and by everybody. No, let us devote our life to worthwhile actions and feelings, to great thoughts, real affections and enduring undertakings. – Andre Maurois
I realize it’s petty. Maybe its not. I dont know.
But it’s the little things that stab me in the heart. The things you least expect, that you never thought would bother you but they do.
Case in point.
My daughter has as many online sites as I do. LJ, myspace, last.fm, facebook, photobucket, you name it. Chances are pretty good she and I are probably both up there in some shape or form. I tend to have ids to nearly every site imaginable as they come in handy for adoption searches. We have not friended each other anywhere. This is at her request. She doesn’t want anyone to know we are related.
Early on in our reunion my daughter shared a number of her sites with me. I assumed this meant I had permission to check them. So I did. And I would randomly comment and of course get no responses. Meh, okay. I am used to that. I was just thankful she shared them.
She had a tantrum on me at one point. It was irrational and out of place. I did not take it personal. While it hurt and surprised me, I did let it go and chalked it up to her age, maturity, stage in our reunion. We are told that we all regress in reunion; I suppose she is allowed to regress and act like the two year old I never raised. At least sometimes.
A follow up tantrum included her making one of her sites (that she shared with me) private, thereby prohibiting me from viewing it. This saddened me as I enjoyed seeing the photos she posted there. I commented on it to her at some point, told her that I am not going to assume it was made private to block me, but I realize it could have been. I asked her to please consider being more forthright with me should that ever be the case. I don’t like (okay, I despise) passive aggressive bullshit. You don’t want me to do something, just tell me and I won’t. Explain it to me. Share your feelings. I will respect them.
But to the point of this post…
The most recent online slap came in the form of another photo site she has. She posted many photos of her adoptive mother (labeled “my mother” of course). Old ones, new ones, all shapes and sizes of her amom.
I had two reactions to this.
The first reaction, the rational one was “Aww, sweet, cool. Nice old photos” (Her amom is about the same age as my mom so they were like old, sepia, 50s era photos). They really were quite cool. The visual media person in me really did like them.
The second reaction? That reaction was one big old flipping heartache. That reaction was laced with tears and anger and hurt and all sorts of ugliness. That reaction screamed out inside me “SHE IS NOT YOUR MOTHER!!!”.
It bothered me how much it bothered me.
I do understand that her reality is that it is her mother. I get that. I don’t want to take anything away from the mother who raised my daughter. That wasn’t really the root of the pain.
The root? The deep seated, emotional core of why I hurt? Jealousy. Envy. Pettiness. Insert your own word here.
My daughter presumably spent hours scanning in oodles of old photos of her amother but can never find the time to just send me a hello. She apparently wants to show the entire internet her amothers clothing, size, where she vacations in the 1940s…but I don’t get a thank you to a gift I sent her.
Ooh, wait, I think I figured it out. I think I am having my own version of a two year old temper tantrum.
Like mother, like daughter.