When I was just a little girl I asked my mother what will I be. Here’s what she said to me: “Kendra, I don’t know. I’m in the middle of cooking breakfast, and you’re in the way of me finishing these biscuits…” As the record screeched to a halt in my head, and I moved out my mother's way so she can finish kneading the dough to make her delicious homemade biscuits (that she conveniently stopped making when the Pilsbury company made their frozen biscuits in a bag), I always wondered why she couldn’t answer my question. I always figured that maybe I picked the wrong time. So, after the biscuits were made, the breakfast was eaten, and she started washing the dishes, I would go and repeat my question to her. In vain, I always got the same answer: “Kendra, I don’t know…”
For as long as I can remember, I’ve always been a planner. My days would be planned down to the second and no matter where I would go I would always make sure I had a good escape route in case someone decided to pull a Pulp Fiction and attempt to rob the place (if my escape route was inaccessible then I always made sure I had the option of bursting through the window like the Kool-Aid man and go running down the street). However, ever since I graduated college I’ve learned that planning wasn’t a sure guarantee that life would go as I intended.
Whenever these revelations appeared to me, instead of trying to just relax and let the waters of life drift me in the way that it was leading me, I would panic, tense up and feel like I was drowning in the current. Since having my daughter my mother calls me daily; and as the habit I ingrained in myself as a little girl would appear, I ask my mother for advice for the future. “What type of mother do you think I will be? What will I do if my daughter hates me? Hey, Kayleigh does *insert innocuous behavior here,* do you think that means she’ll be *insert completely unrelated annoying adult trait* when she gets older?” With unbelievable patience my mother would say for the umpteenth time: “Kendra, no one knows the future. You just need to be patient. Whatever will be will be.”
Each morning while I try not to freak out about the uncertainties my life is facing now as a wife, mother, and publicist (Prioritybooks Publications, check us out!!) I’ve realized that I started singing “Que Sera” to my daughter as I feed her. Even though I’m beginning to transition into singing the “Dayman” song from “Its Always Sunny in Philadelphia” to her now, I hope that Que Sera’s lyrics are ingrained in her head. That way, when she gets older and I inevitably ask her where her life is heading, she will look at me and say: “Mommy, whatever will be will be…”
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