Growing Up
I sat in
the elementary school gymnasium with my pre-teen daughter as the fifth grade
maturation program was about to begin. I glanced around at the many daughters
hanging nervously on to their mother’s arm – many of the young girls looking
exactly like a younger version of the woman sitting next to them. My daughter
looks just like her dad when he was her age – but there is no mistaking that
she belongs to me as she puts my arm around her back and lifts her arm for me
to gently tickle.
As the
program begins I take a moment to reflect on this stage of life. Was I really
here with my oldest child discussing bras and menstruation? Not that we hadn’t
already had this discussion many times before, but now suddenly all of these
changes seemed to be right around the corner. Was she ready? Was I ready? The
movie begins, showing several young girls going through many “firsts,” with
their moms helping them along the way.
Suddenly
feeling emotional, I discreetly brush a few tears away. Soon this little
vignette would be my daughter and me. Wasn’t it just minutes ago that I carried
her home from the hospital with a little pink bow glued on to her head with
corn syrup? I would push her proudly around in her stroller and everyone would
tell me to enjoy this new baby because they grow up so fast! And now here she
was, wearing false nails and deodorant to school.
I look at
her steadily, suddenly taking a mental picture. She is still so little and
petite. Her bangs are pulled back in little rubber bands and her long brown
hair falls gently down her back. Her dark blue-gray eyes are framed with those
coveted long black eyelashes underneath the full arched eyebrows that she
inherited from her dad. She smiles -- her big beautiful teeth flashing new
braces with purple rubber bands. A sprinkling of freckles covers her button
nose with a few stubborn pimples across her forehead.
She
is beautiful! I pat at my eyes and my daughter looks over with raised eyebrows.
“Mom, are you crying?” she whispers. What could I say? You know those “hormones”
they were just talking about? Well, moms get them too!” Of course she has had
her moments of being touched by emotion too. Last summer when she and I went to
the Broadway musical "CATS," she had tears streaming down her face as
Grizabella sang her touching rendition of "Memory." I couldn't help
but smile.
Hopefully
we still have a few years before too many changes start happening. Right now
she is at that ideal age where daughters still want their mothers around. She
offers me back rubs and asks me about my day. But soon she will be a teenager.
Will she still want “Mommy Time?” Will she still want me to tickle her back and
tell her stories? Or will her friends nudge me out of my position, ready to
jump in and take priority? Will she suddenly want a cell phone and be too busy
texting messages to all her friends to let me know what is going on in her
life?
I cannot answer these questions and I shouldn’t
worry too much about what I can’t foresee. For now, I can just be here – in the
present. And maybe the next time she asks me to tuck her in and tickle her back
for just a few more minutes, maybe I won’t be so quick to roll my eyes or sigh
with exasperation at her “excuses” for prolonging her bed-time. Perhaps I won’t
hastily flip out the lights as I practically run out the door. Maybe I’ll just
stay a minute longer in the here and now. Because here and now is perfect.
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