This is Thirteen

I used to worry that I annoyed Lily by taking too many pictures of her. Now she is the selfie queen. The duck-face selfie queen. Sometimes I find bursts of her close ups on my camera. Multiple photos taken within nano seconds of each other so almost identical, and yet upon close inspection ever so slightly unique, thus distinguishable.

I liken it to the way I sometimes catch sight of her and can see the bright eyed toddler she was not all that long ago. Then other times I'll see her as she'll appear 10 years from now. Looking back. Fast forwarding. They both make my heart skip several beats as I struggle to inhabit the present.

Yesterday I got a call from the office. Lily slipped on the ice during recess. She fell hard on her tailbone, had the wind knocked out of her and cut her hand. She was in physical and emotional pain...people saw her crying...and so I hurried to bring her home where we are always most comfortable and cared for. I was grateful I was able to drop what I was doing to be there for her. That's definitely a gift of this place I'm in right now. Still she only needed me a little: some sympathy, a dose of ibu, an iced water and an ice pack. I went back to what I was doing after she went to sleep in her dark and breezy room. Gone are the days when I have to kiss boo boos (or crushed coccyxes) and tuck her into my bed beside me when she's sick or hurting. I remembered that I couldn't resist the most adorable stuffed llama when I was shopping over the weekend.  Another last hurrah of childhood. I planned to tuck it in her Easter basket because I thought she might like it, but I decided to give it to her when she woke from her nap a little grumpy. I know her so well. She loved it and it brightened her mood. She thanked me profusely. I confessed that I was pretty sure when I bought it, it would be her last stuffed animal. She nodded in agreement as she proclaimed its name to be Lavender. I smiled knowing we'll remember this last. It's hard to forget a purple llama given to you on the occasion of injuring your coccyx. Another fading glimpse of my little girl.

A glimpse completely obscured when she became more concerned about the blood she got on her new Gap sweatshirt than her injury. A blatant reminder: she is 13. She's a shopper now. A shopper who knows exactly what she likes and wants. We spent an hour at the Gap over the weekend where I worked up a sweat and was mistaken for an associate at least 3 times by other shoppers. For the record, I didn't correct them. I just helped them. I mean I was maybe even a little bit flattered because all the other employees are practically girls not much older than 13 themselves. I considered it a successful spree. We finally got the girlfriend jeans. I have bought and returned no fewer than 5 pairs of these because something was always not right once we got them home. She was on the lookout for a dress for D.C. We found that too. At first, she bristled when I came back from another loop around the store with said dress for her try on. I knew it'd be perfect. She rolled her eyes, resisted, finally relented and lo and behold, she agreed. We agreed! 

Back to the sweatshirt though. I told her I wasn't buying it. It was ridiculously priced and she has umpteen hoodies. Yea. Obviously she has one more. I bought it. I'm telling you that I have a very difficult time saying no to this child especially since after I said no, she didn't plead or cajole. In fact, when she saw I was softening, she then tried to talk me out of buying it despite the fact that she really really wanted it. She knows me so well. P.S. I got the blood out. P.P.S. It's really cute.

We're at this point...thirteen versus middle age...where we usually don't see eye to eye. More like I say abc and she says xyz sometimes I think just for the sake of being contrary. I asked Jess about our contrarian dynamic since she witnessed it several times on Sunday. She answered me with a question, "What was your relationship like with your mom at 13?" It set me straight. It was just like the relationship I have with my daughter: mostly loving and open, but a little irritating and chawing too. Healthy. I'm proud she wants to think her own thoughts, form her own opinions and forge her own way. And I'm good with it just so long as she knows that she can come to me any time about anything and I will listen, advise, kick butt, hug, buy her lavender llamas or whatever else she needs.