Daughter

Daughter, Where Did You Come From?
by Donna Gundle-Krieg

When I was pregnant with my second child, I really wanted a girl. Our firstborn was a boy, and I felt a daughter would complete our family. I also wanted a daughter to share all of my interests so that I could teach her and be her friend.

When the doctor finally announced triumphantly, "It's a girl," we were elated. "Elizabeth Jean," I responded, and immediately Dennis and I forgot about everything else as we fell in love. She had beautiful, dark brown features and loved to cuddle.

At first, Liz did not resemble anyone in either family. I would stare at her for hours at a time, trying to figure out whose genes she had inherited. I noticed friends and relatives doing the same thing.

Within a year, however, Liz's looks changed considerably as her hair and skin lightened to match mine. More and more people remarked that she looked just like me. One day my mother produced a baby picture of me that confirmed it: I had a little clone of myself after all.

However, as Liz's personality developed, I began to suspect that her looks were the only thing she inherited from me. She had no interest in learning about anything that I wanted to teach her. In fact, her interests were as different from mine as they could possibly be.

Liz loves dolls of any kind. She has dozens of them, and stuffed animals too, every one of which is loved and attended to regularly. Newcomers are always welcomed into her ever-growing family, and she immediately knows if one of them is out of place.

I had no interest in dolls growing up. As the oldest of seven girls, my mother kept me plenty busy caring for real babies. Instead of dolls, I always chose to play sports and get involved in outdoor activities. I was sure that if I exposed her early enough, I could interest Liz in at least trying some of my pastimes.

May 1999 Welcome Home

These efforts were frustrating; she even turned up her nose at the shiny, expensive bike we bought her for her third birthday. And when her brother Steven and I could convince her to join us shooting hoops, she would lose interest quickly and go back to walking her stroller up and down the driveway, arranging and rearranging all of her kids and their stuff while she went about her day. She had an imagination that did not quit. We were amazed at the scenarios she played out at a very young age.

Liz didn't care at all that no one else in the house shared her interest in dolls; she played happily alone. Occasionally we would relent and join in her imaginative play. If Steven was really bored and dying for company, she would convince him to play house. Even Dennis has been known to join her for an afternoon tea party. I began to see that my way was not the only way. Gradually, we accepted her interest in dolls, and even encouraged it. We bought her a huge dollhouse to hold the smaller dolls; her grandparents refinished an antique baby crib for her to house the larger dolls; wall hangers filled with stuffed animals adorned her walls; various aunts purchased a dolly playground, kitchen set and baby doll car seat. Her bedroom resembled a doll store.

Although we accepted her love of dolls, I still wished she would get over it. As she neared preschool age, she retreated into her own little world more and more frequently. I became desperate to form a common bond with her. Why couldn't we connect? Why didn't she like riding bikes or playing ball like the rest of the family? Why didn't she like anything that I liked? Where did this little girl come from?

Once in a while, I would find some middle ground so that we could enjoy an activity together. Liz would join me for hours in the garden, admiring the flowers and picking some to give to each of her dolls. She would then take whichever were her favorite dolls of the week around the yard, explaining the flowers to them just as I had done to her.

Books provided another area of common ground. Of course, they had to be books about dolls or princesses, and she often insisted on reading by herself in her own way. A big breakthrough came when she was introduced to a series of dolls that had corresponding historical books. She would cuddle next to me for hours as I read the exciting stories about the characters that matched the dolls on her lap. She even had Dennis and Steven interested in what might happen in the next chapter of the book.

One day she caught me watching her as she had her doll cook Thanksgiving dinner for twenty-five, just days after I had done the same thing. "You can come to Thanksgiving dinner if you want," she said shyly. "You can even choose which dolls you want to be." I knew I had no choice but to join in the preparation of the big feast. After dinner there was a holiday concert and party, and Liz and I had to bathe and clothe each of the kids and pets that wanted to attend. For hours she drew me into a world of make-believe that I had never experienced as a child. If my daughter had been just like me, I would have been deprived of experiencing this fantasy world in which we had so much fun!

The best part was that once I agreed to enter her world, she was more excited about trying out mine. The day after the big Thanksgiving bash, she actually agreed to try her bike, with her baby dolls stuffed in the basket, of course.

Donna Gundle-Krieg and daughter Liz (four) continue to find common ground together in Xxxxxxx, Xxxxxxxx, with husband/dad Dennis and son/brother Steven (almost seven). Donna enjoys tennis, gardening and birdwatching.

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