10 Things I Need You to Know at 10

My firstborn turns ten this week.

Ten.

I have repeated that number several times because I am still trying to determine how that's mathematically possible. I distinctly remember bringing her home from the hospital approximately six months ago. Yet somehow, Sara Rose is now entering double digits, has opinions about my clothes, can identify when I am being unreasonable, and is old enough to retain evidence of my mistakes for future use.

For her birthday, I bought her a purse and some jewelry. The jewelry will go inside the purse, because apparently presentation matters and I am trying very hard to create a beautiful mother-daughter memory instead of handing her a shopping bag and saying, “Here. I love you. I have court in the morning.”

But I wanted to put something else inside.

A note.

Ten things I need my daughter to know at ten years old.

Not because I think ten-year-olds are famous for carefully considering their mother's life advice. I fully expect her to read this, hug me, possibly cry if I time it correctly, and then become significantly more interested in the jewelry.

That's fine.

The note isn't only for ten-year-old Sara Rose.

Maybe it's for sixteen-year-old Sara Rose, who will inevitably believe I am the least intelligent person she has ever encountered while simultaneously needing me to Venmo her money.

Maybe it's for twenty-five-year-old Sara Rose, when she realizes I knew slightly more than she gave me credit for.

Or maybe it's for thirty-eight-year-old Sara Rose, who may one day have a daughter of her own and finally understand why her mother was always tired, always worried, and occasionally standing alone in the laundry room pretending not to hear anyone say “Mom.”

So, Sara Rose, here are ten things I need you to know at ten.

1. You were the first person who ever made me a mother.

Before you, I had never been anyone's mom. You were the first little hand I held and the first person I ever loved in that strange, terrifying way where suddenly my heart existed somewhere outside my own body.

I learned how to be a mother while you learned how to be a person.

Which, in hindsight, seems like a remarkably irresponsible arrangement. Neither one of us had any experience.

But we grew up together in a way.

You will always be my first.

2. You are allowed to speak when something is wrong.

You are a child, but you are still a person.

Your feelings matter. Your voice matters. If something feels wrong, say it. If someone hurts you, tell me. If you are uncomfortable, speak.

I never want you to confuse being polite with being silent.

There are enough women in this world still trying to unlearn that lesson. I do not want you to spend thirty years learning something I can tell you now.

3. You are allowed to respectfully tell your mom when she is wrong.

I may not appreciate this immediately.

Give me a minute.

Possibly give me two.

Read the room.

But being your mother does not mean I am always right. I will make mistakes. I will misunderstand things. Sometimes I will be flat-out wrong.

You are allowed to tell me.

Respectfully.

Please note the repeated use of the word respectfully. This is not an invitation to become opposing counsel in my kitchen.

4. Being strong and being kind are not opposites.

You can be soft without being weak. You can be kind and still have boundaries. You can love someone and still tell them no.

Never let this world convince you that you have to become cold to become strong.

You do not need to lose the sweetest parts of yourself just because someone once took advantage of them.

Learn better boundaries.

Do not become a worse person.

5. Never make yourself smaller so somebody else feels bigger.

Do not pretend you are less intelligent, less talented, less funny, or less capable because someone else is uncomfortable with who you are.

The right people will never need you to dim yourself so they can shine.

And if you inherit even half of your mother's personality, we should probably discuss volume control, timing, and prosecutorial discretion before middle school.

But never smaller.

I will help you learn when to use your voice.

I will never teach you not to have one.

6. Pretty is fun. Smart will save your ass.

Wear the jewelry.

Carry the pretty purse.

Fix your hair. Wear the dress. Be exactly as girly as you want to be.

But learn.

Read. Ask questions. Pay attention. Know how things work. Know where your money is. Understand what you sign. Learn how to take care of yourself.

And please, for the love of everything holy, read the entire document before you agree to anything. Your mother has built an entire career around people who skipped that step.

Your mind will take you places your face never could.

Pretty is wonderful.

Pretty and capable is dangerous.

7. Tell me the truth, especially when the truth is bad.

There will be times when telling me the truth gets you in trouble.

There will also be times when you are absolutely convinced that lying to me is your best available legal strategy.

As your mother and a criminal defense attorney, I am asking you to reconsider.

I have watched grown adults make this decision.

The results are rarely impressive.

We can fix almost anything together.

But I need the truth to know what we're fixing.

Tell me the ugly truth.

We will sit in it together before I ever let you face it alone.

8. You do not have to earn your place in your own family.

You do not have to be perfect. You do not have to make good grades every single time. You do not have to behave beautifully or make me proud every day to deserve my love.

There will be days when I am frustrated with you.

There will almost certainly be days when you are furious with me.

At some point, you may dramatically inform me that I have ruined your entire life.

I assume this is included in the teenage package.

You are still my daughter.

I am still your mother.

You still belong here.

There is no version of you that has to audition for my love.

9. I hope you become more than I ever knew how to be.

I do not need you to be like me.

I hope you are braver in places where I was afraid. I hope you learn some lessons earlier than I did. I hope you make entirely different mistakes, because I have already thoroughly researched several categories and cannot recommend them.

I hope you do not spend years apologizing for things that were never wrong with you.

I hope you know when to stay.

I hope you know when to leave.

I hope you understand yourself sooner.

My job is not to create another version of me.

My job is to help you become Sara Rose.

And then, somehow, learn to stand back and let you do it.

10. No matter how old you get, you were my first.

There is only one person in this entire world who can ever be my first baby.

My first daughter.

The first person who ever called me Mom.

That is you.

At ten, twenty, forty, or seventy years old, that will still be you.

I know there are a thousand other things I should probably teach you.

I need to teach you how to drive. How to manage money. How to recognize when someone is lying. How to leave a situation before it becomes a disaster. How to cook more than the approximately seven meals currently in your mother's rotation.

We have time.

At least, I keep telling myself we do.

But I have already used ten years.

Ten birthdays.

Ten Christmas mornings.

Ten summers.

Ten years of school pictures and lost teeth and shoes you outgrew before I remembered buying them.

Ten years of hearing “Mom” so many times in one day that I occasionally considered changing my legal name.

And somehow, I would give almost anything to go back and hear that tiny little voice say it for the first time again.

That's the part nobody really explains when you have a baby.

Everyone warns you that the nights are long.

They tell you that you will be tired.

They tell you to enjoy it because it goes fast, which is an incredibly irritating thing to say to a woman who has not slept in six months.

But then it does.

It goes fast.

Quietly.

One day, you are carrying your daughter everywhere because she needs you to.

And then, without any formal notice or opportunity to object, you realize you cannot remember the last time you picked her up.

There was a last time.

I just didn't know it was the last time when it happened.

And I think motherhood may be filled with moments like that.

Last bottles.

Last bedtime stories you read because they cannot read them themselves.

Last tiny shoes.

Last times they crawl into your bed.

The last time they reach for your hand automatically before crossing a parking lot.

You don't always know you're saying goodbye.

Sometimes you are just moving on to Tuesday.

So for your tenth birthday, you get a purse.

You get jewelry.

And tucked somewhere inside, you get these ten things from your mother.

You may understand some of them now.

You may understand others later.

Just keep them.

Because I have spent the first ten years of your life trying to teach you how to grow up.

And somewhere along the way, while I was busy packing lunches, finding missing shoes, answering emails, trying cases, washing uniforms, and telling myself there would always be more time, you actually started doing it.

You are growing up.

Exactly like you are supposed to.

And I am so proud of you that it hurts.

But Sara Rose, if I am ever a little slow to let go, please be patient with me.

You were the first person who taught me how to be a mother.

And every new version of you asks me to learn how to be your mother all over again.

I am trying.

I promise I am trying.

Happy tenth birthday, Sara Rose. 🌹

Judith Hampton

Attorney at Law

Hampton Law Firm, LLC

Local Roots & Trusted Service for the Northeast Louisiana Area.

Areas of Practice Include:

     📌Successions

     📌Estate Planning

     📌Real Estate & Title Insurance

     📌Criminal Defense

     📌Uncontested Divorce

     📌Boundary Disputes

     📌Interdiction & Guardianship

     📌 Other Civil Matters

🗓️Schedule Your Appointment With Attorney Judith L. Hampton below:

📃Prefer to skip the appointment? Send us your information via our secure intake form using the button below:

🛍️Need a simple legal document without the attorney fees? Shop our self-help legal templates drafted by Judith L. Hampton, Licensed Louisiana Attorney by clicking the link below:

🔔Would you benefit from ongoing access to attorney guidance and legal advice for less than the cost of a consultation fee? Check out our subscription plans using the link below. All subscribers gain free access to our entire document library, receive monthly attorney guidance and 25% off of all full representation services.

Come see us at:

📍 203 North Main Street

Farmerville, Louisiana 71231

Contact us at:

📱  Call or Text 318-368-7444

💬  For a quick-start, text "HELP" to 318-368-7444

📩  support@hamptonlawla.com

🛜  Chat with our front desk using our App – Join our mobile community by downloading the “Spaces by Wix” App for free from your App store, search “Hampton Law Firm” and use Invite Code VCZQIA to join!