A Prayer for My Daughter, Thank You, Tina Fey

In Tina Fey’s new book, Bossypants, she includes a prayer for her daughter. It was sent to me via Facebook by a wonderful Mommy friend who also has a daughter almost the exact same age as Ella. The poem is actually making the rounds via emails and blogs so really, why not jump on the bandwagon?

A friend told us this one when we were first expecting Ella. “When you have a boy, you only have to worry about one boy. When you have a girl, you have to worry about every boy.” Upon finding out that Ella was a girl, Loran called one of his good friends to spread the news. Said friend was busy at work so it was a brief conversation that went something like this, ::Loran:: “D, in eleven years, I need you to send me a shot gun…” ::D:: “Congratulations on your daughter!” *click*

Now that I’m the mother of two girls, I am acutely aware of what is coming down the road. Every time I go to the mall on a weekend, I cringe. Girls, practically babies, hanging on the arms of boys. Scantily clad in their Abercrombie and Fitch mini skirts with the thong showing in back and the tank top not long enough to cover it...but wearing Ugg boots, so thankfully, their ankles and shins are covered and warm. Citing their role models as Lady GaGa, Miley Cyrus, Rihanna. *sigh* I hope my girls grow up to look up to Betsy Ross (yeah, the flag lady). They don’t have to be the weird kids in turtlenecks and skirts to their ankles, but we’re going to work on modesty. And that’s already a hard one. This weekend, we were pulled aside after church while picking the girls up from nursery to be informed that Lily spent a good portion of the hour pulling her pants and diaper down. Yes, her new party trick is to pull her bottoms down and her top up. She is earning the name “Streaker”.

So, here’s to keeping my girls off the pole, under the roof until college and seeing them off into the world as well adjusted adults with degrees, hopes and dreams. It’s not that lofty of a wish, right?

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“First, Lord: No tattoos. May neither Chinese symbol for truth nor Winnie-the-Pooh holding the FSU logo stain her tender haunches.

May she be Beautiful but not Damaged, for it’s the damage that draws the creepy soccer coach’s eye, not the beauty.
When the Crystal Meth is offered, may she remember the parents who cut her grapes in half and stick with beer.

Guide her, protect her when crossing the street, stepping onto boats, swimming in the ocean, swimming in pools, walking near pools, standing on the subway platform, crossing 86th Street, stepping off of boats, using mall restrooms, getting on and off escalators, driving on country roads while arguing, leaning on large windows, walking in parking lots, riding Ferris wheels, roller-coasters, log flumes, or anything called “Hell Drop,” “Tower of Torture,” or “The Death Spiral Rock ‘N Zero G Roll featuring Aerosmith,” and standing on any kind of balcony ever, anywhere, at any age.

Lead her away from Acting but not all the way to Finance. Something where she can make her own hours but still feel intellectually fulfilled and get outside sometimes, and not have to wear high heels. What would that be, Lord? Architecture? Midwifery? Golf course design? I’m asking You, because if I knew, I’d be doing it, damn it.

May she play the drums to the fiery rhythm of her own heart with the sinewy strength of her own arms, so she need not lie with drummers.

Grant her a rough patch from twelve to seventeen. Let her draw horses and be interested in Barbies for much too long, For childhood is short – a Tiger Flower blooming Magenta for one day – And adulthood is long and dry-humping in cars will wait.

O Lord, break the Internet forever, that she may be spared the misspelled invective of her peers And the online marketing campaign for Rape Hostel V: Girls Just Wanna Get Stabbed.

And when she one day turns on me and calls me a Bitch in front of Hollister, give me the strength, Lord, to yank her directly into a cab in front of her friends, for I will not have that sh*t. I will not have it.

And should she choose to be a Mother one day, be my eyes, Lord, that I may see her, lying on a blanket on the floor at 4:50 A.M., all-at-once exhausted, bored, and in love with the little creature whose poop is leaking up its back. “My mother did this for me once,” she will realize as she cleans feces off her baby’s neck. “My mother did this for me.” And the delayed gratitude will wash over her as it does each generation and she will make a mental note to call me. And she will forget. But I’ll know, because I peeped it with Your God eyes.
Amen.”

-Tina Fey

(That, is what you call good writing. Pick up Tina Fey’s book Bossypants for more.)