The Weepies

I’ve become somewhat addicted (ok, totally addicted) to Pinterest in the last few weeks.  I started out not really “getting it”, much the same problem I had with Facebook and Twitter (both of which I can’t live without now).  I pinned a few pretty pictures, but then I saw my friend posting recipes and tips and tricks and that is when it really came together for me.

I’m not usually so slow on the technology front when it comes to things on the internet, but when something isn’t obvious to me right away I might lose interest and get distracted by other projects.  The other night I finally sat down with Pinterest and figured out how to look at things that were pinned by people who weren’t my friends, and that opened up a whole other world to me.

Several daisies (Asteroideae) top

Several daisies (Asteroideae) top (Photo credit: Wikipedia)

One of my favorite pinboards is “For the Baby” where I started pinning things that I might like to have for the baby.  This quickly evolved into baby mantras, baby sayings and baby related ideas and activities, all of which I love.

While discovering new pins, I ran across a pin that linked me to a blog called Diapers & Daisies.  The blog post itself is called Rules for Mothers of Daughters, and I should have known when I clicked on it that it would make me cry.  It’s a beautiful list of things to do with your daughter, and the reasons why.  Some are general, some are specific, but all are designed to strengthen your relationship with your daughter.

This made me cry for a couple of reasons.  Number one is that I have no relationship with my mother, and really haven’t ever.  This list makes me realize what I missed out on having an absentee mother who didn’t cherish her daughter (or her sons).

Number two is the daughter growing inside me.  I realize that I have the power to give her all the things I never had from my mother growing up: self-confidence, respect, love and admiration.  Arms to catch her when she falls, and wings to help her fly.

I weep with sadness for the lost little girl who only wanted her mother’s love, and I weep with joy that my own daughter will never be that little girl.

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