Every time I look at this picture my heart just sinks.
Yesterday, Bailey had her first taste of "friendly heartbreak" when two of her friends didn't want to play with her. It wouldn't have been so bad if it were just some random kids at the park blowing her off, but these were her two best friends. And they wouldn't play with her, no matter how hard she tried to get them to. They played with each other, but whenever Bailey asked to play or just inserted herself into whatever game or scenario they were acting out, she was shut down pretty quickly. They were playing some game where one of the girls was "the boyfriend" and the other was "the girlfriend". Bailey's solution was to have two girlfriends so they could all play, but the other two girls just kept shooing her away. After a few minutes, one of the girls came back to Bailey and said, "Okay, come on, you can be the girlfriend now and I'll be the boyfriend." Bailey's eyes lit up and she said, "Okay!" and hopped up from where she was sitting. But then that same girl turned to her and said, "Okay, now I'm breaking up with you. You can't play with us anymore." She walked away and left Bailey sitting there.
And that's when I took this picture.
Even now, a day later, I can't look at it without getting tears in my eyes. After her friends skipped away {hand in hand, of course}, Bailey dropped back down to the steps and just sat there. Defeated. Sad. Lonely. The adult in me recognized that this was, potentially, a pivotal moment for her and that how she handled the situation now could be a pretty good indicator of how she'd handle issues like this in school one day {God forbid, right?}. The rational part of me knew that this is what kids sometimes do and that, by the next morning, all would be forgotten in their little world. But the mother in me? Well, she was just as heartbroken as her daughter in this moment.
I wanted to grab those two little girls, drag them back across the yard, and demand to know why my daughter wasn't good enough to play with. I wanted to ask them why there couldn't be two girlfriends in their play scenario and why they couldn't find a way to include her in whatever it was they were playing. I wanted to force them to include her. Instead, I walked over and sat down on the steps next to my little girl.
"I'm sorry your friends aren't playing with you, hon. But I'll play with you! Want me to be the boyfriend?"
She just shook her head. "{Friend's name} is the boyfriend and she breaked-ed up with me."
I offered to play ball with her. To play dolls. To color. But she just wanted to play with her friends, and that wasn't happening. I wanted to make those other two girls sit in a long timeout for being mean and making my daughter feel sad {how's that for mommy entitlement, huh?}. Instead, I called them over to where I was sitting with Bailey and talked to them all about being friends and including everyone in their play. They listened and told me they understood at the appropriate times, and then the three of them ran off together to play.
Not two minutes later, I hear friend #2: "We don't want to play with you, Bailey!" And I watched Bailey's shoulders slump, watched her make the same slow walk back to those damn steps, watched her sit back down and just watch everyone else playing. And it was like my heart was breaking right there with hers.
I know that it won't help if I fight all of her battles for her. I know that this particular issue is something that she'll face, in various different forms, all of her life and that she'll be much better off if she learns how to cope on her own. I know that this is part of growing up. I know that, by tomorrow, this whole thing will be forgotten and everyone involved, including Bailey, won't even remember that it happened. I know that, when all is said and done, she's an amazing kid and she'll have lots of true friends as she gets older. I know this. But that doesn't make it any easier to watch.
I had a talk with Bailey. As much of a "talk" as you can have with a 4-year-old, anyway. And I told her that sometimes our friends don't want to be nice and don't want to play with us and, even though it hurts our feelings, that's okay. I told her that it would be a good opportunity to make other friends, and that having lots of friends is a good thing. I told her that, even if her friends didn't want to play with her in that moment, that they still liked her. And that, no matter what, I would always play with her if she wanted me to.
And so the day went. Her two friends included her a bit more, but still weren't being very good friends. Basically, let her play "with them", but didn't actually include her in anything. And it made me so ridiculously sad to see her so upset over it. So, later that day when she asked if we could have a "Mommy-Sweetie" day {go to the mall, hit the play place, and finish up with some froyo} I told her that we absolutely could.
When I was a freshman in high school, a boy on the bus told me that I was ugly. To this day, I've never forgotten it and I haven't forgotten that my mom and I sort of had our own "Mommy-Sweetie" day after. I don't remember all the little details from that day but I do remember walking off the bus dry-eyed, determined not to let those kids see me cry, and then crying when I told my mom what the boy had said, and I remember that she consoled me and took me to get my hair cut that very night. And that new hair cut did wonders for me. It didn't make me forget that I'd been called ugly on a bus full of high schoolers and it didn't take away the sting of embarrassment whenever I replayed it in my mind that night. But it did help me to feel better about myself. For a little while, I wasn't the ugly girl on the bus. And I loved my new haircut. So much so that I walked on the bus the next day, not necessarily proudly and with my head held high, but with enough confidence that I wasn't ready to burst into tears when that boy and his idiot friends glanced my way. It was a simple thing, that hair cut, but it made all the difference in that moment and I will never forget it.
So Bailey and I went to the mall, hit up the play place, walked around the toy store for a bit, and got some froyo before heading home. My own version of "the haircut", only this time I was my mom. By the time we'd gotten home last night, the hurt she'd felt from the day was pretty much completely forgotten on her part. {Froyo tends to have that effect on things, I think.}
This morning, she's back to her smiley self, the problems of yesterday forgotten. A completely inconsequential event in her life so far, but somewhat monumental to me. I know that she's going to encounter situations like this all the time as she gets older, and I know that it's up to me to help her through them and let her know that I'm there {froyo, hair cuts, and all}.
I just didn't think I'd have to start at 4 years old!
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