I never thought that I would be a “blogger”. I’m really not in to social media… I don’t tweet, I rarely post on Instagram or Facebook, and I’m not snapping or chatting anything. But something significant is happening in my life that I need to talk about, I need to share, but I feel there is no one close to me who will be able to understand or relate to what I am experiencing. I’m not a “talker” at any rate. I’m one to say “talk doesn’t change anything”, you have to do something to make a change. I feel I may need to make a change and I feel I have to share this experience and these feelings or I will implode. So, I may not be at the point of talking, but I can write.
When my daughter was around 7 years old she started asking me things like “why did you name me Robin”. So I told her why we chose her name her Robin. She proceed to ask, maybe not that day or even the same month, why didn’t we name her Rob instead. Not thinking anything of it, I just chuckled and said something like “Rob is a boy’s name silly!” She just laughed with me, said “oh okay, Mommy” and went back to doing whatever she had been doing. Now around the same time Robin started talking about a little boy at school almost every day. I would hear Mark this and Mark that; even though she always talked about her other friends, Kim and Nicole, she just seemed to talk about Mark more. So family members and I started teasing Robin, saying she had a boyfriend, and she was just smile her beautiful little smile that lights up my world, giggle that little giggle that fills me with joy, and say “that’s just my best friend”.
Not much happened during that year, or not much seemed to stand out in my mind, at least. But I’ve always thought of Robin’s 8th year as not our best year. That year doesn’t seem to be as bright in my memory as all the others before or after. Mind you, she’s only 11 now. There were no major losses, no traumatic events, no issues with school or friends. But I’ve always thought of that year as a bad year. I never knew why until now, as I’m writing this out, it’s dawned on me. Robin’s 8th year was the year.
My daughter has never been a “prissy” girl; but neither was I. Robin played with dolls but was more interested in trucks or cars or anything that had more action than a doll. But so did I. Robin always liked sports and has an amazing pitching arm that her uncle’s likened to high school kids. But plenty of girls are athletic and like sports. Robin never really seemed interested in all the little dresses and “girly” outfits I bought her when she was younger, so I just started buying her jeans and t-shirts. All the while thinking “this girl is just like me”; I’m far from prissy and jeans and t-shirts are my “go to” attire for almost any occasion.
Don’t get me wrong. I was fully aware that my child had her own personality that was in some ways the complete opposite of mine. But that’s not anything I didn’t expect as a mother. In fact, since I”m the type of person to worry over things that could happen 10 years from now, I had gone over ever possible “difference” that could exist between me and my child. I thought of how I would react if she started using drugs; I thought about how I would handle it if she wanted to drop out of school or not go to college; I thought about how I would handle her being mentally ill or sick or a multitude of other potentialities that life may bring. But I never thought that the little girl I cherished would tell me she felt like she was supposed to be a boy.