I’m a mother of a 10 year-old girl. Do you know what that means? I can justimagine all the mothers of girls out there raisingcollective sighs to the Universe right now.
Ya get me?
She’s a good girl. A really good girl, in fact. But I am starting to get glimpses into what will most definitely be a mind blowing ride through teenage-dom. (Totally a place, by the way. I picture hoards ofself-involved girls obsessively straightening their hair andboys yelling “dude, you suck” back and forth like a ping pong game.)
My baby girl, the fruit of my loins, is growing up sooooo fast. Crazy fast. Too fast. This became glaringly obvious to me on February 14th.
Wait for it.
A boy brought my sweet apple dumplin’ a rose for Valentine’s Day. A boy. With boy brains. And boy hormones. And boy parts.
And she loved every blessed minute of experiencing her own Bachelor-moment over chicken strips, mashed potatoes and the fruit of the month, peaches, sitting at the lunch table in front of all her friends.
“Avery, will you accept this rose?” he asks nervously.
“Of course,” she answers tearfully.
Okay, not really. It was more like:
“Here,” he says as he shoves the rose into her face.
“Thanks,” she answers quietly, wishing the table would swallow her and her rose.
But that girl was beaming as she crashed through the front door, rose clutched in her tiny fist and the words, “Mom, ohmagah…” bursting from her lips.
And I died a little.
Gone are the days of “ewww, boys are gross.” Am I ready for it?
Is it happening anyway?