My daughter has reached that age: the age where she wants some alone time, she needs some privacy, and hugging Mom in public is not that cool anymore. This time is a somewhat sad time for me because I have to let go a little, and I don't like letting go. She isn't quite as bad as a full-blast hormonal PMSing teenage girl, but I know that this time is coming. I've heard all the horror stories, I remember my own teenage angst, and I am as braced as I can be.
Of course, there is some relief that she is not as bad as I was. I can say this with some authority, because I was already a known troublemaker at the tender age of 11, and my daughter is not. I was also not the popular girl; I had a few friends, and my bestie, whom I equate to sister in my head. My daughter is doing better in the friend department, which I hope means more support for when she does slide down that estrogen induced mania of teenage girl drama. This could also mean more peer pressure, but I have to be somewhat optimistic here.
One thing that I can be sure of is that my daughter will do her teenage years unlike anyone else. She already has some claim to unusual behavior, and her latest venture into weirdness is how she goes about claiming her private space. She has recently acquired the desire for some privacy. Before, she would follow me around like a lost little puppy, but now she locks herself into her room, occasionally popping out to mess with my head by telling something insanely weird, but mostly arranging her stuff and guarding her property. Like a dragon guarding it's hoard.
In an attempt to give everybody a fair warning, she's plastered her door with warning signs. Do Not Enter. Angry Barracudas. Wait, angry what? Where the heck did she get barracudas from? Ask her and she just covers her mouth and giggles. She's also posted warning signs stating that her room is 'Home of the Blob.' What the heck is the blob? Ask, same giggle. I don't trust that giggle.
You know what this means, right, kiddo? Mom isn't gonna be cleaning your room up. Since her room isn't under the water, I am fairly certain that I will be safe from angry barracudas, but what the heck is the blob? Repeating myself, I know, but this sign was posted to mess with my head. My daughter knows me well.
All jokes aside, all kids need a little privacy. Don't get me wrong, if I even suspect something's amuck, I'll be nosing in to make sure the is nothing fishy (<--haha--) going on, but we all need some me time. Especially in my little estrogen shack. Girls need space from other girls; cat fights are ugly. Having no comparison, I don't know if boys are the same, yet I imagine that they need some space too. But sometimes moms just have a hard time letting go. So to all momma birds who are having to take a step back so that little birds can spread their little wings: you are not alone. I share your pain. The plus side is that one day, we will get to see those little birds fly.
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| A bedecked door. Do Not Enter. |
One thing that I can be sure of is that my daughter will do her teenage years unlike anyone else. She already has some claim to unusual behavior, and her latest venture into weirdness is how she goes about claiming her private space. She has recently acquired the desire for some privacy. Before, she would follow me around like a lost little puppy, but now she locks herself into her room, occasionally popping out to mess with my head by telling something insanely weird, but mostly arranging her stuff and guarding her property. Like a dragon guarding it's hoard.
In an attempt to give everybody a fair warning, she's plastered her door with warning signs. Do Not Enter. Angry Barracudas. Wait, angry what? Where the heck did she get barracudas from? Ask her and she just covers her mouth and giggles. She's also posted warning signs stating that her room is 'Home of the Blob.' What the heck is the blob? Ask, same giggle. I don't trust that giggle.
You know what this means, right, kiddo? Mom isn't gonna be cleaning your room up. Since her room isn't under the water, I am fairly certain that I will be safe from angry barracudas, but what the heck is the blob? Repeating myself, I know, but this sign was posted to mess with my head. My daughter knows me well.
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| Beware the fish??? |
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