motherhood as a mirror

on breastfeeding, dolls, and the wisdom of women

Parenting a toddler is a wild ride. They’re unintentionally hilarious, extravagantly affectionate, and frequently infuriating. Watching them change from squishy infants to proper little people with individual personalities and interests feels genuinely miraculous to me.  They process the world with wide eyed wonder and honesty, with none of the jaded cynicism or hurried busyness of most adults. We recently took our two year old to M&S Foodhall, an upmarket supermarket, and she gave a little gasp and went “ooh fancy shop”. Presumably the exact response the branding and marketing team was going for. It was very cute and the memory of it always makes me smile.  

I know the “nature vs nurture” debate is still ongoing, and my own (somewhat uninformed) opinion is that the truth lies somewhere in the middle, but I’ll tell you something else I’ve noticed as my daughter has got older: she is already mirroring me far more than I expected. Honestly, it is slightly creepy when your two year old starts imitating your exact behaviours and inflections. Not to mention humbling when you realise that the fiercely independent streak that has her insisting “I do it myself” every time she needs the toilet is something she inherited from you. Then there is the way she reflects my emotions, for good or ill. If I get in a bad mood, and allow myself to wallow in frustration or impatience, you can guarantee she will shortly be displaying those same emotions. You could say that she is a mirror, and often the reflection is not a flattering one. Yet this tendency of small children to copy and imitate their parents is also a tremendous gift, and a wonderful opportunity. 

This was brought home to me this week during a seemingly insignificant interaction that took place. 

My daughter was playing with her doll. 

She calls this doll “hair baby” because she has long hair. Hair baby was mine once, bought at a toy store in Zurich on the Bahnhofstrasse during a visit to my Swiss great aunt. My daughter loves this old doll far more than any of the other dolls she has. Hair baby sleeps with her, goes to church with her, sits in the car seat with her.

One day this week, my daughter was reading hair baby a story. I should say telling not reading, as my daughter is only two years old. She held the book and the doll carefully on her lap, pointing to the pictures and narrating as only a two year old can; “Samuel whiskers a dreadful enormous rat, I not like Samuel whiskers face”  

My younger daughter, who has just learnt to sit, was playing on the floor whilst I prepared dinner. Suddenly she began to cry: “mama, mama, mama”, plaintive and urgent. I recognised the sound as a hungry cry, so I picked her up, sat down on the sofa, and put her on the breast. She latched on eagerly, and sucked greedily. In an instant calm was restored. My older daughter glanced over. “Hair baby hungry” she declared, and came to sit on the sofa beside me. She put her doll on her chest, mimicking me. She patted and soothed the doll, just as I pat and soothe her younger sister. “It’s ok hair baby, shhh hair baby, go to sleep hair baby”.

I haven’t taught her to do any of this, she has simply watched my behaviour and is mirroring what she has observed. Already, at the tender age of two, she is learning the art of motherhood.