The thing is, I know where she’s headed and I can’t say that it’ll be her best years. The time when hormones fume and privacy is essential. The time when everyone is annoying just because and camisoles must be worn under everything sheer and otherwise just to camouflage what might be budding underneath. The years when girlish bodies fill out, curving and broadening, in all the places that’ll give us a complex later on. Too large, too flat, too round, or too wide. The time when smelling good is just as important as being clean. Perfumes become overpowering contaminants and scented body gels from Bath and Body Works suddenly replace soap. Anything to mask the faint smell of perspiration and general odors from adolescence.
Somehow I felt differently when I watched my son going through puberty. I guess because I’d never felt what he felt because I didn’t have his parts. There also didn’t seem to be as much change going on in him compared to girls. I mean, I know there was it just didn’t seem as obvious. Girls are more like ticking time bombs. The part that has me so rattled is that I see myself in my daughter. And, like me, she won’t listen to anyone. (Side note: I’ve said it before but it bears repeating: sorry mom.) I guess I’ll just have to keep giving my daughter unsolicited advice about less is more when it comes to makeup not clothes; feminine hygiene; and how boys aren’t worth it. And then I’ll just have to sit back and try and survive the ride. Expecting to enjoy it might be wishful thinking. Stay tuned...