My Eldest Daughter

S was born a howler. When she cried, she wailed. It was the kind of baby wail that would drive you mad and extricate curious stares and unsolicited advice. I abhorred those unsolicited advices and stares. It took all I could muster to calm myself and her.

When she was three, she would sulk and determinedly disobey me. "No," was one of her favorite words back then, leaving me speechless, at a loss and angry at her stubbornness. Her sulking face was and still is intolerable to me. I repeatedly told her not to let me see 'that face' for it would just drive me mad. I told her if she wanted to act all sulky and difficult, go do it where people can't see her or hear her. The frequency of that had significantly diminished throughout the years, though when it was still in a fair amount of frequency, I couldn't contain the anger I felt. It drove the rift between us bigger. I felt that she was too like me and I hated myself for it. I decidedly thought that I couldn't get along with her.

Now she's eight, and already reaching the lobe of my ears in height. She's much more matured now and much much more wise. In fact, her growth has been so significant that she keeps on surprising me almost everyday.

There was the time when she offered to give us her Eid money to pay us for taking them out despite our weariness.

Then there was her "Jazakallah Khair," to her father when he bought her something so small it was merely a trinket from the store.

Yesterday, I had let her spend her money, where with she bought My Litte Pony. At night, after I had put them to bed, I lingered in front of their bookshelf, flipping through their books, looking for ideas to write my own. Suddenly she leapt off the bed and hugged me, saying,

"Jazakillah khair."

Then there were her countless thoughtful notes and cards saying,

"Thank you for taking care of us, Ummi. I love you."

Just this morning she asked me, while I'm sitting on the bed facing this laptop, typing the previous entry,

"Ummi, do you want me to bring you some pancakes?"

I nodded, saying Jazakillah khair. She popped back, asking me,

"With syrup?"

I shook my head.

And here I am now, with an empty plate next to me, two pancakes being digested in my stomach, writing about my eldest daughter. Just last night I was thinking about her name, which meant tranquility. I thought if the names we give our children help in shaping their nature and personaliy. S surely wasn't tranquil when she was a baby, what with her wails and howls, but she seemed to now possess a thoughtful nature that never ceases to surprise and please me every day. My eldest daughter, my best friend, my helper, my first born, how could I have thought I couldn't get along with her?