A daughter

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I was never a maternal girl. I never had dreams about having children, dressing them, how cute they would look. There were moments, though that I had thoughts about kids. In one of those thoughts, I imagined this cute little girl with long curly honey-almond toasted colored hair. I had visions of her. In my vision, she's around six years-old and she's precious. This idea has always been on the back of my mind. I never thought I could actually have children. I also know way too well that is very hard to find the right father. Recently I found out that I am physically capable of having kids. The news was shocking. Then I started thinking about the idea of having a daughter and how protective I would be.
There's a lady who comes to my workplace and she has a daughter who looks so beautiful I think of a Botticelli's painting when I see her.  Allegory of Spring to be precise. Her mom and I have a very similar taste for good movies. We like deep and dark, intellectual stimulating drama. Sometimes the daughter comes to the library alone and I watch her walking by. She is graceful as she walks in between the shelves. One can imagine her soft voice that suits her looks very well. Her soft caramel hair and her pale skin and pale blue eyes suit her docile personality very well. I often think that if she were my daughter I would protect her from being heartbroken so much to the point she'd rebel against me.

I think about my teenage years and my relationship with my mom. I rebelled against my mom, but it was a slow and hidden kind of rebellion. It would hurt so much to see her (this girl or my own daughter) sad and jaded. As I think about her, I am also thinking about me and the years that separate both of us. Why do I let men mistreat and misr(l)ead me? Why don't I protect myself? It hurts to see that men are predators. Don't they see I am just like that girl? Don't they see that I am also fragile even though I am strong? Why do they cross the line? Little by little I come to the conclusion that it's because I let them. Hopefully, my Botticelli girl  will know better and one day if I end up having a daughter she'll know when and why to say no. Image: The Birth of Venus by Botticelli.

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