The First Time She Said "I Hate You"

October 23, 2011: The first time my daughter said, "I hate you."

Somehow I made it until second grade, seven and a half years without hearing those words. I knew it was coming, the closer she got to tweendom, the faster and harder the attitude came, and these past few months have spawned a love of pop music and a need to wear fashionable shoes, and I knew it was coming.

Today she and a neighbor friend got in a fight, and I said the friend couldn't stay for dinner. Even though I'd said she could an hour earlier. Even though I'm not sure my girl even wanted her to stay. The friend burst into tears and I dug in: "If you two are going to fight, the day's over," I said, despite their protests, despite their cries of agony. I only had one child for many reasons, and one of them is this: I don't break up fights.

On the way across the street to walk the friend home, she said, "I hate you." Quietly. But not under her breath. And though I've been expecting it all these years, my skin tingled and my stomach twisted.

We deposited the friend at home and I deposited my girl in her room to ponder her sins. And then I went to the sink and stood, washing cupcake pans and crying as though my heart would break.

Beloved rubbed my shoulders as he passed by.

"I know this is part of being a good mom," I sobbed. "But it sucks so much."

He rubbed my shoulders again and left.

We made up less than an hour later. She's an impetuous seven. I told her how much it hurt me while knowing that I couldn't appear to be the destroyed mother, that I had to be the locked door. Children need boundaries. Children need something strong to rail against. The worst thing I could do for her is to let her manipulate me because she hurt my feelings.

I know this.

But this, October 23, 2011, is the first day my daughter said she hated me.

And I'll never forget it.