Multiple Personalities

It’s funny.
I gave birth to four children.
My four children all have the same father and the same mother.
Except for that…they don’t.
I am a different mother to each of my children.

This fact is painfully evident with my daughters.
When one of my oldest daughter’s friends said, “Wow, you’re mother is so chill!” (i.e. so cool she is BEYOND cool), she responded by saying, “Yeah, well…she’s nice.”
When one of my youngest daughter’s friends said, “Wow, you’re mother is so chill”, she responded by saying, “N0…she’s icy chill!”

Of course, I understand that part of it has to do with the fact that my daughters are very different girls.
But, at least part of it has to do with me. With how I raised them. With who I was when I raised them.

My girls were born four and a half years apart.

My oldest got a more traditional mother. A stay-at-home, Catholic woman who volunteered endlessly, taught Sunday school and believed in the “Father Knows Best” model of family life. She got a my needs come last, my opinions don’t count for as much, I am here to serve you sort of mother. In short, she got someone who was more uptight, less confident and angrier.

My youngest daughter got a mother who was beginning to realize that her view of the world was rather narrow. She definitely got a lot of the angry, but she also got a mother who spent less time channeling June Cleaver and more time getting in touch with her inner Morticia Adams.

Both of my girls got a mother who listened to them, but my younger daughter also got a mother who could hear.
My oldest got a mother who would find solutions to her problems, proper solutions, but solutions that didn’t always fit my daughter. Her sister got a mother who helped her figure out her own answers.

My youngest daughter got a mother who reads aloud to her every night from Fearless Girls, Wise Women & Beloved Sisters. Her sister got a mother who didn’t even realize that gender was an issue.

My oldest daughter got a mother who unconsciously split household chores into “boy jobs” and “girl jobs”. My youngest got a mother who splits chores based upon interest, time and need – my oldest son asked to do the laundry, my youngest son enjoys unloading the dishwasher and my daughter loves to bake.

I realize that it is not as though these two different mothers are mutually exclusive nor do I delude myself into thinking that I only house two mothers within me – I haven’t even touched on the kind of mothering I have given to my boys – or that I got it “all wrong” with my oldest and am getting it “all right” with my youngest daughter.
I do believe, however, that I am becoming a better mother, even though I know that I have always done my best.