It’s arrived. I always knew this day would come but I don’t think I expected it to be so soon. 😫 Or so sudden.
It probably wasn’t – that sudden – but it feels smack you-round-the-face-excruciatingly-so-upon me. Sigh.
I thought I had years to go, many more eye-rolls to bear (how exactly can one, fairly diminutive 10 year old convey such soul-churning disdain in a mere upward flick of one perfect eye brow and simultaneous roll of said eye-balls?!) but in the way of the cliche, time has sped up & my ‘littlest’ is not so…. well ‘littlest’ I guess. However petite she may be in stature, make no bones, this girl is growing up. F.A.S.T.
Of course as parents that’s what we want. ❣️ Of course it should be the natural progression of life and indeed, I am starkly reminded to be humbled and grateful in contrast to far too many of those we have known along the way whose children will forever remain but 4 or 5 or X amount of years young.
I’m full to the brim of love that Minx is following in the trajectory of ‘tween’ girls the world over, especially given the at times mixed prognosis of her youngest years and some of the curve-balls she has thrown at us latterly. I think really she just wants to keep us on our toes, never a dull moment and all that. But at times: whoosh, a sucker punch to the gut.
I digress. What has ‘come’ that I alluded to at the beginning of my rambling?
In spades. Big time.
I shouldn’t really be surprised I suppose. She comes from a long line of family members who know how to speak for themselves, fight their corner & generally not take ‘no’ as a complete sentence. (No finger-pointing please!)
Secretly a (very) teeny tiny part of me is enjoying this new territory, the minefield to navigate of what she will wear, what is sartorially appropriate (or not, depending on which one of us you are speaking to!) the determination to do it (or not) her way. But by Lordy, it is tiring at times! And the girl can argue….
Gone is the elfin child so pretty in a plethora of pink & purple, ribbons and sequins , frothy trappings of Monsoon, Accessorize et al. Replaced by a love of glitter but of the sparkly eye-make up variety – the contents of MAC shop, Urban Decay make up or a bath-bomb (or 5) Her clothing choices now consist of darker hues, bigger and baggier, less ‘girly’ more quirky and sassy.
In place of the (long past) nursery rhymes, Disney tunes and Nickelodeon, a fascination with Billie Eilish, weird-pranking You-tube families, LD shadow Lady and Roblox (parental controls on) has emerged. She spends hours watching make up demonstrations or bizarre things you can make out of recycling crisp packets, how to make tiny working copies of day to day stationary – one inch perfect replica glue stick anyone?! 🤔
In a rehash of my Dad asking me what on earth I could possibly need to speak to my school friends so urgently about given I’d only been out of school for an hour and off the school bus for 10 minutes max when I rushed in from school to pick up the phone, Minx /bounds (*slightly* too strong a word . usually knackered after school but you get the picture) straight to her bedroom, door firmly shut before she giggles away to her friends via face-time or school group chat. The peels of laughter, the loud shushing and use of code-words (and shouting) if someone inadvertently enters her room without knocking (I’m looking at you here Big Brother G!) as well as the general disarray of her bedroom (despite my best efforts) all serve as reminders that my affectionately known little Millie Minx is maturing.
I’ll admit to slight trepidation, a bit of panic. I’m not ready for my little girl not to want me or need me. I’m not ready to stop kissing the top of her head & inhaling that fresh-from-a-bath-scent before she goes to bed (or the sweet-not yet-sweaty-smell when she wakes of a morning) I like still reading bed time stories, the books I loved as a child.
Since Minx is the youngest of our children and there are most definitely NO plans to have any more, I’m unsure whether my reluctance (fears?) stems from that letting go of the ‘baby’ stage or whether it’s down to the medical issues and difficulties she has faced (& will continue to) in the years to date; somewhere between the 2, I suspect.
But importantly, most importantly, she is ready. Wanting to strike out on her own, arguing it’s fine to go out in just a t-shirt & cropped leggings despite it being single figure temps outside (Mum: I’m sorry I remember us having those arguments when I was her age! 😫) her Dad asking incredulously if we had actually paid good money for the jeans with the rips in and why we couldn’t just slash some of her other things with an artfully wielded pair of scissors.
I’m reminded of that beautifully written, perfectly summed up quote from Nanny McPhee but I think it’s rather more for my own benefit now than hers:
And without going over all Darwinian/survival of the fittest, over the years I’ve been privileged to be a mum (& I’ll be honest, there are many many moments it hasn’t felt like such a privilege!) I’ve come to the conclusion that the very best you can hope for if you have done a reasonable job of parenting is that your child(ren) will have confidence enough – ideally in leaps & bounds – in their own abilities to strike out on their own; that they will seek to carve their own way, flee the nest to live their best lives and all that jazz. That the mistakes they will inevitably make are small enough to learn from but not big enough to endanger/hurt or ruin life (theirs or another’s) and that is more than enough **
Offspring however, if you are ever reading this: a visit to your old mum & dad in their dotage, the occasional cup of tea and a desire to spend some time in our company that doesn’t involve gifting you data/food/money/combinations thereof , wouldn’t go amiss….
*Either that or you’ve fu#*ed it up so badly, they have fled for the hills at the first opportunity. Cold comfort. You’re welcome. 😉