This week, my daughter turns six. We were sitting on the patio talking about her upcoming birthday when she did something that completely disarmed me—she purred.
That’s a little thing we used to do since she was a little, little girl. Our own mother-daughter lioness ritual, rubbing our heads together and purring like big cats; expressing our love for one another. She hasn’t done that in a while, even turned down my request for it a few times. She’s been growing up, getting louder, more opinionated, pushing boundaries. But in that moment, she reached back for babyhood—and I melted.
Just a couple days prior, she gave me full-on attitude because I couldn’t come eat lunch with her at school. She was mad. And articulated that feeling. Apparently, the school’s testing schedule—which had nothing to do with her grade—was no excuse for keeping me away.
And that’s my daughter: a mix of growing up and holding on. Sharp-tongued and tender-hearted. Brilliant and witty, and little…or a lot, bit bossy! And she’s teaching me, every single day, what it means to mother.
So in honor of her sixth birthday, here are six of the biggest lessons I’ve learned from six years of loving her.
1. Children Aren’t Blank Slates—They Come With Purpose
When I became a mom, I assumed I would be shaping someone from scratch. I expected a lot of “because I said so” moments. And while there’s certainly a time and place for that, it turns out, kids aren’t empty.
My daughter arrived with her own rhythm, her own ideas, her own fire. She’s not something to be sculpted, she’s someone to be discovered. It’s my job to guide her, yes, but also to stay curious enough to see who she already is.
A family-friend passed on her child’s pediatrician’s advice, “Are you raising a child, or a person to be a functioning adult?” That changed a lot for me.
2. One-Size-Parenting Doesn’t Fit All
Having two kids has taught me that parenting isn’t copy/paste. My daughter is nothing like her older brother. What works for him doesn’t work for her. Aliah requires something different from me, and I had to—and am learning—to adjust.
She needs more softness in moments more structure in others. She needs room to lead. And I’ve had to shift the way I show up for her so that she feels seen and supported as her, and not as a version of anyone else.
3. Show Her All of Me, So She Can Love All of Herself
As a Black mother raising a Black daughter, I know I am her first mirror. If I want her to be whole, I have to model wholeness. That means letting her see all of me—not just the strong and independent parts, but the soft, silly, joyful, tired, healing parts too.
I want her to trust her own voice, not just mimic mine. I don’t want her to grow up preparing for a world that may not always see her fully. Rather, I want her to walk into it knowing who she is, knowing she never has to shrink. Not even for me.
4. Confidence Isn’t Disrespect—It’s Her Voice, and It’s Sacred
Whew. Let me tell you this one probably test me the most. That girl will let you know exactly what she thinks. And I’ll admit—there are moments my ego gets bruised. I’ve had to check myself…and her…sometimes. Afterall it is gentle-ish.
However, what I may initially see as “talking back”, might just be her standing tall. What feels like challenge might be confidence. My job isn’t to silence it but to shape it. To teach her how to use her voice, not stifle it.
She can be respectful and powerful. She’s helping me learn that line, and we walk it together.
5. Parenting Is a Choice You Make Daily
There are days I do not feel like parenting. Let’s be real. Days when I just want to be left alone. But then I remember: she is watching. They both are.
Being a “good parent” doesn’t mean being perfect. It means showing up, even when you’re tired. Even when you’re over it. And showing them that presence matters. That love is in the consistency.
Motherhood isn’t a one-time decision. It’s a daily one.
6. She Is Brilliant—and I Am Her Mirror
From birth, I knew she was sharp. Quick-witted, observant, deeply expressive. And I want her to know that brilliance is a seed, not a trophy.
I hope she keeps growing it—in her reading, on the soccer field, at the piano, in Taekwondo, and yes, even while learning to ride that bike without training wheels. I want her to run into this new chapter with confidence, knowing that she is ready.
She’s not a baby anymore….
But she will always—I mean always—be my baby!
Happy birthday, baby girl. You are my greatest teacher.
BTW: Motherhood is a choice you make every day, to put someone else’s happiness and well-being ahead of your own.” – Donna Ball
What have your children taught you? Share in the comments and on social media.
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2 Comments. Leave new
Lovely words. Now I hope you see why we of my generation still call your generation “our baby”. It is established at your birth when we decide to nurture for our entire lives.
Touche’.