Growing Up

Today my little girl hit a major developmental milestone, but she forbade me telling anyone. And I promised that I would not. So I can't. So don't ask. Because I cannot tell you. Period.

My cell rang in the late morning. She'd snuck the phone into her bedroom, away from the nurse and the sitter. Oh, my heart was pounding. I'm sure the ring wasn't any different than it's ever been, but even before I saw where the call originated, even before the first tentative "Mom?" I was bracing myself for the words that I knew would come. And they did. I swear I had at least a few heart palpitations. I pulled over to the curb and directed her in the step-by-step of what to do. She responded by snapping my head off. I said I'd be home within the hour and made it there in 45 minutes. I wanted to make sure she was not having any discomfort, but even though we were sequestered in the bathroom with the water running in the sink, every privately and discreetly whispered inquiry was met with shortening the stub of my neck where my head used to sit. Dang! I can't wait for next month!

In the evening she timidly asked "Mom. Do I have to wear it to bed?" All timidity was instantly gone when I replied "Yes, sweetheart." You'd have thought I'd strangled her favorite pet and served it to it for dinner with a demi-glaze of apricot sauce! Clearly, it is entirely my fault that she is, in her own desperately quiet words, "Suddenly...I'm no longer normal."

I'd hoped this event would take place outside of school hours. Wish granted. It causes me great pain that she is so very adamantly refusing to discuss any little detail. She gets infuriated when ever I try to give her direction or tips. So, I made a list, sent her brother outside with a Popsicle and tackled it all at once in one fell swoop. There are things she needs to know, like, yes, you have to wear it to bed. And, you need to wrap it up before you put it in the garbage. Stuff like how to tell when it's on it's way, what to look for, how to alleviate the discomfort. The angrier she got, the calmer I got. I finally said that I wasn't sure why she was so angry with me, that I just wanted to make she she knew what to do and how to do it. That's when the tears came and she whispered so, so very quietly, "It's just that...suddenly...I'm no longer normal." I wanted to scoop her onto my lap and rock her like a baby. Instead, while I had her attention minus the glares and daggers, I assured her matter-of-factly that it was indeed perfectly normal and that all of her friends would be experiencing the same things very soon if not already.

So, the less said, the better. I'll wait for her to ask what she wants to know. And then I found the pile of laundry and the comforter that looked like a small farm animal had been slaughtered on it...four days later...balled up in a corner of her closet. Thank goodness for ordinary old household hydrogen peroxide!