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I don't know when it happened. That moment when my cherubic daughter with the flaxen blond hair and the irrepressible giggle became the cynical, sighing preteen clad mostly in black with red-sprayed hair. I'm sure there were stages in between, but it's a blur to me. The child inhabiting the body that I so carefully fed homemade, organic baby food and allowed to wear princess dresses 24/7, has morphed in to a wanna-be teen who has no time to bake with me, and becomes all angles and stiffness when I swoop in for a hug.
I know that this is a phase. This is part of her growing in to a woman. But I desperately miss the little girl. I had hoped this transition would be slower, gentler. I'm shocked by her independence, her competence. She really doesn't need me. Not much. So I step back, but then I worry that I'm not being a good mom. Shouldn't I know what she's listening to? Reading? Who she's got a crush on? I used to know the names of her stuffed animals, and I spent hours online trying to find the one Littlest Pet Shop animal that she wanted the most.
Every now and then when the kitchen is quiet and there are no brothers about, she'll wander in and pull off her ear buds, climb on a stool and talk to me. It's usually a story about kids I've never heard of, and this being middle school, it usually involves some kind of goofy, senseless joke or behavior that she finds hilarious, but I'm left confused wondering - do I laugh? Is this supposed to be funny? Should I be honest and say how ridiculous it all sounds? I gauge her reaction and temper mine to it. But it's hard. If I react inappropriately, she'll bolt for the door with a, "You don't care about anything I do!" thrown over her shoulder. If I ask a stupid question, she'll sigh, and mutter, "Nevermind," and replace her ear buds. Such pressure. I'm always happy to see her, but it makes me anxious.
I don't go through this with my boys. They are simpler creatures. When they tell me a story, they laugh at my confused questions and shake their heads and explain patiently why something is funny even when it makes no sense. They are patient with my adult-slowness.
Every now and then my daughter and I have a moment. A moment when we talk to each other with great love. No affectionate words are necessarily said, that would embarrass her, but we discuss something the boys would never understand - nail polish, mean girls, and how much we both love our animals. And sometimes we talk about the herbs growing in the garden and all you could do with them or country music artists we would both like to see in concert. And every now and again, she will come in to the kitchen to cook, but it is nothing like the baking we did when we wore matching aprons. Now, she wants to do the cooking and my presence is allowed only as an observer and source of information.
I sit at the counter and I watch my daughter, who is still so very small (puberty comes late in this family), but who is really a big person. I envy her confidence, her speedy mind, her creative flair. I can't wait for her to finish her metamorphosis, because if I can hold on long enough, and not say the wrong thing too many times, I think we will come through this as great friends.
Cara Achterberg is a freelance writer and local columnist. She blogs compulsively at themamaload.blogspot.com. Cara recently finished a work of women's fiction, and is currently at work on a memoir about her experiences as an overwhelmed mother breaking an unhandled horse. She lives and writes on a hillside farm in Southern York County, Pennsylvania where she and her husband raise organic vegetables, fruits, chickens and three beautiful children. She blogs about these adventures at kidfriendlyorganiclife.blogspot.com and teaches workshops on organic living. Her free time is loaded with gardens and critters, and whenever possible, a run or a bike ride. She bakes the best chocolate chip cookies in the world.