I could feel her gaze piercing through me, as if she was shooting daggers straight to my heart. My sweet little five-year-old had turned into a fierce opponent. I found myself pleading with her, for what felt like the fourth hour, to just finish her dinner.
“I don’t like it,” she snapped, her tiny teeth flashing as she crossed her arms and pouted. She kicked the table in frustration, glaring with those cute, yet defiant, curls bouncing around her head.
“Where on earth did she learn this?” I thought, my exasperation rising. I crossed my arms and glared back, and then I couldn’t help but chuckle. Here I was, losing a tug-of-war with a miniature version of myself. I sighed and walked over to her, planting a kiss on her still-pouting head. Clearly, she had inherited her stubbornness from the best.
Everyone warns you that you’ll face the same challenges your parents did when raising your kids. But I never imagined my adorable little bundle of joy would grow into such a sassy diva in just five years. I always thought kids morphed into their parents later in life, perhaps in their thirties.
From early on, I noticed striking similarities between my children and myself. Most days, I adore it; it’s like having a little buddy around. But battling your own reflection can be equally frustrating.
I wasn’t sure I wanted kids until I met my partner. After that, I thought about having a tiny version of him running around. Sure enough, when we welcomed our son, that’s exactly what we got. He’s a smaller, lively version of my partner—kind, thoughtful, and intelligent, but also critical and sometimes negative. My daughter, on the other hand, is loving, sweet, dramatic, and fiercely independent. Both of them share a stubborn streak, along with a natural sense of humor, a trait they surely inherited from both of us. It’s hard not to laugh (with them) when they’re trying to wiggle out of trouble.
Parenting is challenging enough, but it becomes even more complicated when you’re up against strong personalities—especially when they point out your own flaws. I’m guilty of raising my voice when stressed, asking my kids to keep their voices down only to have them remind me that I was the one shouting. Yet, oddly enough, that moment often brings a strange silence.
It hasn’t been easy, but I’ve learned to pause and ask myself two key questions: What is upsetting this child? And what would I want if I were in their shoes? The upside of facing a pint-sized version of my stubborn self is that, if I’m self-aware, I can respond effectively.
I’ve discovered that my son thrives in calmness, much like his dad. He prefers soft voices and gentle reassurances. As a child, I craved physical comfort—hugs or a warm blanket when I was upset. When my daughter is in the middle of a tantrum, I wait for her to quiet down before offering my arms for a hug. It’s almost funny how much she mirrors this need and runs to me for comfort.
Of course, just when I think I have them figured out, they change with each birthday. Friends have been kind enough to prepare me for the pre-teen phase my son is about to enter. They reminisce about how they thought it was challenging before, chuckling, “Bigger kids, bigger problems.” Fantastic, I think, as I mentally stock up on coffee.