Forget about my kids; I’m the one having major growing pains. After accidentally clicking on a folder on my computer which contained pictures of my nine-year-old daughter as a cherubic toddler scampering about- I found myself overwhelmed with sadness. Okay, I was weeping uncontrollably for a solid five minutes as I clicked through a dozen or so files, charting her progression from baby to now self-possessed almost tweenager.
I am not one of those overly sentimental parentsâ€”I can’t recall her first step, her first bite of solid food or the first time she said mama. Of course I can vividly recount her first temper tantrum; we were at a Carvel store and feeling frustrated at not being able to lick the ice cream fast enough to keep it from melting she took her sugar cone and threw it in on the ground.
She’s a feisty, hot-tempered redhead, who surprises me everyday with her determination, and unwillingness to succumb to a situation she can’t solve, who has my whole heart and whose red-hair is a source of good luck (each St. Patrick’s Day several random strangers ask to make a wish on her head ) . She’s also growing up faster than I care to acknowledge. In fact, her demands that I tuck her in at night and stroke her cheek have slowly been replaced with reading a Meg Cabot book (Allie Finkle rules!) and reassuring me that while she still loves me I no longer need to tuck her in. DEEP sigh!
And last night, as I began to map out our January trip to Orlando and told her I wanted to have tea with the princesses, when she smiled at me and said, ” Mommy I’m not really into the whole princess thing anymore…but we can go if you want,” well my heart just sank.
But I get it– that frilly phase of tiaras, magenta tutus, fake pearls and pink boas is slowly being replaced by shopping for skinny jeans and Uggs boots. I get it and I’m even beginning to embrace it. But it just makes me sort of sad.