I’m Watching My Daughter’s Confidence Slowly Crumble
At 10 years old, she spends a lot of time frowning into mirrors
My daughter has always done things her own way.
She first defied me when she was 36 weeks in the womb. I was sitting on our balcony, and all of a sudden I felt something large and round lodged under my ribcage. It felt like a head — which is exactly what it turned out to be.
I tried in vain to turn her back around. I let an acupuncturist burn my toes. I suffered through an external version, which was painful and violent and accomplished nothing. I saw a chiropractor. I took hot baths with frozen peas on my belly. I strategically placed my iPhone speaker between my legs and tried to lure my daughter’s head downward. I played my whole damn music library to my vagina. But she insisted on staying put.
A surgeon ultimately had to slit me open to scoop her out. I was in a sterile, white-blue room, miles away from the midwives and jacuzzis where I’d planned my natural birth. But as I cradled my daughter for the first time, I forgave her for her transgressions. She looked exactly like the gentle, tender baby girl I knew I’d have.
Then she opened her eyes.
