Where is my perspective?

Sometimes I loose sight of who I am, and who my partner and child are. It happens all the time, I allow myself to relax and the next thing you know Steven is screaming at a stranger while my daughter is walking around in a jean skirt mini with a tube top on. I try not to put too much stock into these episodes because they usually blow over. Steven will walk away from the stranger without being pummeled and Lydia will find a different midriff exposing outfit to lounge around in. But when it comes to myself it gets a little more tricky.

I recently suffered from an episode of "Not My Child Syndrome". Everyone should be aware of this great debilitating illness. And if you are not aware of it, you have not been to any area where parents congregate with their preschoolers recently. "Not My Child Syndrome" effects most parents many times but most fail to recognize the serious symptoms. But let it be known, even if the victim is oblivious, every other parent in the vicinity will be aware but unfortunately will most likely become paralyzed from another ailment, this is called the "My Tongue Is Frozen From Rolling My Eyes So Hard Disorder".

The "Not My Child Syndrome" started a few weeks ago at the park when Lydia and a girlfriend of hers were hunting for a treasure at the playground after school. They were running all over the place with a group of boys from her class. There was lots of giggling and shrieking. Everything seemed harmonious, (I take a lot of pride in the fact that Lydia seems to feel comfortable playing with boys and girls). I scoff at other parents who talk of gender recognition effecting five year olds and I've always been happy that Lydia has not only had very close friends that are boys but seems to notice no difference in them. I always dreamed of having a daughter that was confident enough to forge her way past gender stereotypes and just enjoy the personality of the child regardless of their sex. It was at this self righteous moment when I hear, "Come on, you have to rescue us from the pirates we can't do it we're girls we need a boy to help us." a pause "boys are more scary than girls we are too pretty." It was at this point that I looked up from my book to see my daughter not only screaming these words but attempting to tie the ends of her shirt in a midriff exposing knot. Even the most severe case of "Not My Child Syndrome" could not blind me from seeing my daughter at this moment. I blame it on the schoolsor Hanna Montana (this is another syndrome called "playing the blame game" this needs no explanation).

Oh there are many more of these moments, most luckily go unnoticed by this impaired Mamma. But every once in a while (usually when I'm reflecting on what a great open minded child we've raised) I get shook into reality as my child karate chops and yells "high-ya" at some unsuspecting Asian child with her best Mulan moves.