Best Friend

My daughter gave me a hug today and said, “Mommy, you’re my best friend.”  Wow.  I don’t even know how she understands what that means.  I’m sure from school or TV, but still.  My daughter called me her best friend. 

 

My first thought was whoahoa kiddo, you are sooo not going to mean that in about, oh…10 years.  The only thing you will say about me is how much you hate me.  Hate me because I won’t let you wear that slutty skirt to school, won’t let you pierce your nose or go out with that boy you say you love so much that your world will end if you can’t see him.  And when I tell you how much I dislike that boy, I will say it with disdain in my voice and a Southern drawl, just like in the movies.

 

But then I thought…you know what little girl?  I AM your best friend.  I will always have all the qualities you'll look for in friends lucky enough to be called ”best”.  I will love you unconditionally.  I will always have your back.  I will tell you when I think you are making a stupid decision.  I will be there to wipe away your tears when your heart gets broken.  I will always listen to your stories about your day as if they were the most thrilling stories ever told.  I will tell you if that outfit looks horrible on you.  I will pick out makeup with you and help you decide what color your hair should be.  I will support your dreams and cheer you through the tough times and do a happy dance when you accomplish them.  I will love your someday children as much as I love you. 

 

So I choose to pretend that she’ll never hate me.  That I’ll never have to pull the “I’m your mother, not your best friend” card.  But I know that one day, when she’s older, maybe college, maybe after she becomes a mother herself, that she will once again think of me as her best friend. 

 

So my response tonight was simply, “Yes, I am your best friend.  And you are my best friend” with my arms wrapped tight around her itty bitty self.