Navigating girls as they go through the rough waters of adolescence may be the toughest job we have as moms.
It is for me.
I am reminded of this daily as I struggle to keep my darling daughter on course. She is my biggest challenge, a true dichotomy - girl and woman at once. It is as if she has only just been born, just emerged from her shell, glowing and glorious like Botticelli's Venus, and then in a moment, I must carry her, for her weak and untested legs reduce her a baby again.
It is this that makes mothering a tween so so hard. Independence. Need. No. Yes. Mom. Alone. It is a dicey game of catch and release. Stay. Go. Show me the way. Go away. Know.
Eleven has proven to be our most trying age. For a mom and daughter who locked eyes only moments after she entered this world - and have been steeped in love ever since, eleven threatens to make us strangers. Minute to minute, that is how I track our progress these days. Minute one she is doey eyed and emanating love. Mom, I love you! And two, her sharp edged tongue wounds and forces her retreat inside a mind that moves so fast I must watch from the sidelines.
She is two sides of a coin. I see her growing - and measuring her space, flexing, reaching. She cringes as she responds to this world of women judged so often by exteriors. She recoils when I try to reason why and judges me harshly for allowing that absurd reality into our safe and virginal eleven-ness. All while the hallmarks of puberty have their way with her. She begs for a phone - and I fiercely protect her from one. Her analytical mind questions the antics of her pubescent peers while her tender heart longs to be included.
As her body grows she has become all angles. Affectionate touch from a tween is at your own risk. There is no telling where her next awkward limb launch will land. Knees. Elbows. Headbutts. Ouch. And then she sulks.
Straddling youthful innocence and cringee "I am going to nibble at the fruit from the tree of knowledge" is not a comfortable position. Just recently the sixth grade hosted "twin day." Please ask Sarah's mom if we can match tomorrow. Both of us moms thought this a darling idea. Sarah, not so much. She is in a faster lane to grown up-ness. Genuinely troubled by this rejection, my daughter looks at me with a little girl's eyes, and a little girl's question - why mom? Sarah has an older sister and is naturally influenced by her. My girl still loves cats, puppies, bunnies, bugs, you name it. I hear her trumpet: I Love Snails! She has no time for frivolity, be it make up or boys or clothes. Or, now that we've come around to it, clean clothes, brushed hair and teeth - all of these things feel like inefficiencies to her.
I know that soon her oft repeated statement of "my friends like me for who I am" will start to show wear, and I will have to gather her up in my arms and comfort her and try to help her understand the unfairness of the world she is toeing into.
The spectrum of child to woman-like is vast - just look at the sixth grade lunch room. Each table it's own microcosm of the journey to adolescence. Each time I deliver lunch I try to peek at the other girls - are we close? Are we very far behind? What is normal? Is awkward our new normal? The first few months of middle school were painful to watch. Painful to participate in - that was very obvious - and felt interminable. Ask any mom. Ask any sixth grader. You'll find your tribe. Don't worry, they are out there. Assurances from a mom who hoped by saying it with conviction might make it happen sooner. Praying it actually happened.
Quirky. An odd duck. Nose in a book. Happy to be alone for long periods of time. (They feel long anyway.) Would she remain a spectator at the lunch tables? Would my sixth grade hot mess find a match at the lunch table dating game? Am I the only one worrying about this?!
That part has taken care of itself - thank God. The new year brought similar friends - surprisingly, even some who also write stories and read books about warring tribes of cats. Who knew. Maybe Grandma did. Maybe it was just time, time and space that these little ones needed to show themselves.
Daddy's girl, sister, granddaughter, niece, my girl: all relationships are affected by this change and are evolving at a different pace. On the other side of her we walk with tentative steps. We tiptoe actually. Her brother - younger by two very important years (years of play and silliness that she has largely left behind) - lives in a state of villainy with her. Sadly, he may be the only one confident in his position. He mourns the loss of her, and waits for glimpses of the sister she used be. I try to explain.
In addition to, or, I feel it is important to add, I am a parent to a daughter with high anxiety. She emerged from the womb with this temperament, looking at me and at her father with eyes that searched for meaning. We knew then that she was special. Brilliant. Beautiful. Difficult. Gifted children often battle high anxiety, as told to us by her pediatrician. And preschool teacher. And counselor. And reiki therapist. And grandma. And GI specialist.
Oh, and each other. My husband and I tell that to each other.
So, yes, our path into puberty is ensconced in anxiety. But that is a separate story.
Any journey we take as humans where we transcend our previous reality is fraught with challenge - I can say that and I believe it. I get it.
Also, it is exhausting.
And heartbreaking.
And gratifying - periodically.
And also beautiful, if only for a minute at a time.
