It’s the first day of preschool. I carefully laid out an adorable outfit, complete with matching accessories and practical shoes.
And, yet, she’s wearing a Spider-Man shirt.
I offer to braid her hair, put it in a pony-tail, anything, but she pushes the brush away and shakes her head. Her hair whips around in a fury. I worry what others will think of me.
She didn’t brush her hair, and she’s in her Spider-Man shirt.
I want the perfect front porch picture. I ask for a smile, but all I get is a quick “Cheese!” and a side-eye.
And she’s wearing a Spider-Man shirt.
I walk her to her classroom in a sea of children dressed in the outfits their parents picked. Hair perfectly pulled back, clean new school year shoes…
And she’s wearing an old Spider-Man shirt.
“I don’t know what I’ll do when she has an opinion about what she wears,” I overhear a mom say. I bite my tongue as other parents nod and chuckle in agreement.
My daughter, well, she picked her Spider-Man shirt.
I envision years from now when she’s a senior in high school, her friends admire the photos lining our staircase. “Is this you?” they ask. She blushes.
Yes, she’s the one in the Spider-Man shirt.
I snap back to reality, as I sort the massive pile of laundry in front of me. I admire the dresses I’ve purchased over the last year. Some have never even been worn outside of the house.
Because she’d rather wear her Spider-Man shirt.
It’s pick-up time, and of course, I’m running late. Amongst her peers, I quickly spot my daughter.
That’s her in the Spider-Man shirt.
She comes hurling towards me — her hair resembling a bird’s nest, finger-paint on her shorts, and the widest smile I’ve ever seen.
Yep, she’s the one wearing a Spider-Man shirt.
She gives me a hug. She tells me about her day all the way to the car – who she sat by at snack, the book they read as a class, how nice her new teacher is…
Such a busy day for a girl in her Spider-Man shirt.
Before I know it, the car is quiet. While I enjoy the silence, I dread the realization. We’re minutes from home, of course.
I just know she is asleep in her Spider-Man shirt.
We pull into the driveway. In the rearview mirror, I see my beautiful girl. I wonder about what she’s dreaming. I just know she is destined for big things, but for now, I want to keep her little.
Just sitting in her car seat in her Spider-Man shirt.
Then, it hits me. She’s happy. She’s healthy. She feels safe. She feels loved.
She’s all this – and more – even in her Spider-Man shirt.
This was based on a true moment I experienced back in September. I felt like I had put so much pressure on myself to make sure we had the picture-perfect “First Day of School” morning. I was crushed when my daughter stood toe-to-toe with me over what she was going to wear. Eventually, I gave up.
It wasn’t until later that I realized it really didn’t matter what she wore.
As someone who took until her thirties to realize what makes her feel comfortable and confident in the clothing department, it seemed pretty contradictory that I even tried to persuade her to wear anything other than her preference. This was especially true on such an important day, with new routines, new people, and new surroundings.
More so, this seemingly trivial and metaphorical battle opened my eyes to something bigger than my daughter’s attire: myself. You see, I’ve always joked that I didn’t realize I was a Type-A person until I became a mother. However, I see more than just that label now. I see that all of the things I thought would matter no longer do because I am a mother.
My living room aesthetic is construction paper chic. My throw pillows don’t all match. Our Christmas tree is imbalanced in the best ways. My clothes are mostly secondhand with the occasional finger paint detail. My bare face sees the light of day more than my eyelash curler does. Dinners turn out less than picture-perfect because tiny hands helped prepare them.
Clothing and items covered in various cartoon characters are spread all around my house — including my daughter’s favorite Spider-Man shirt.
