Where Oh Where Did My Little Girl Go?

It is Spring 2012 and my 12 year old has morphed into a Young Lady.

I don't know when it happened. I must have been busy doing something else. Like folding laundry. I swear it happened that fast.

One day she was an awkward kid with baby fat and no interest in her own appearance and even less acknowledgement that her little body was on the move.

Then one day I am buying training bras, and am regularly banished from the bathroom for the duration of lengthy primping sessions, am subject to heaps of criticism for the hair products, type of straightening iron, whitening power of the toothpastes, and fat content of foods that I buy, and am on the receiving end of crying jags that rival scenes at the Wailing Wall.

Throw in a boy at a neighboring lunch table with pretty eyes and Justin Bieber locks, and we have a recipe for a cataclysmic nuclear meltdown.

Hil is not a difficult child. She can be reasoned with. So when the Beautification Sessions turned into standoffs with me and with Pat, each of us lobbying for much needed time in the bathroom, and Pat and I even saying Hil can stay for what we needed to do if she could just part with a little elbow room at the vanity, she will usually reluctantly stomp off to commandeer another mirror of equal quality and nearly comparable lighting. She will not refuse to wear the clothes already comprising her wardrobe, but she will put on and take off (and leave on the floor, thank you) many an article before securing exactly the right combination. And thankfully, she has her mother's lightness of hand with makeup. A platinum blonde with fair skin could easily look like a $5 hooker if she went with the usual preteen penchant for noticeable glam. Not Hil. She dutifully wears the lighter mascara, and goes for more a fresh faced appeal than a Ke$ha wannabe. We haven't ventured into hair color yet, though I feel a streak in some Mardi Gras color coming. Perhaps in the summer when the pressure to conform is a little relaxed.

But one morning, as we left for school, Hil came prancing into the kitchen to grab her lunch and to thrust two things into my hand from her backpack. She was prattling on and on about how great the warm weather is and how cool I was to let her get some new shorts way before the season officially starts and not make her dig through last year's collection and try on dozens of things that won't fit or won't make the grade.

And I stood there, coffee in one hand, other hand extended to accept both the announcement about the 7th Grade Dance, and the beautifully printed invitation to a friend's Bat Mitzvah, I was struck by Hil's appearance.

Her hair was freshly washed and tousled with Beach Spray (the stuff that gives you that fresh from the ocean look without the vile presence of decomposing see creatures) and gleaming in the morning light. He face was fresh and peachy with a swipe of sunkissed gloss on her rosebud lips. He Abercrombie hoodie was a perfect fit and fell just wear it should across the belt loops of her adorable white denim shorts with topstiching and cuffs. She was forcing her narrow little feet into clean white tennis shoes recently purchased in the same size as mine.

And all I could think of was,"When did her legs get so long, and when did they get that shape? And where did all the baby fat go? Her waist is so small and she is so long and slim. How did I miss the transformation? Where did my little girl go?"

She confidently put on her shoes and took her iPhone from its charger and rambled on and on about going shopping for a dress for the events mentioned on the papers in my trembling hand.

And all I could think as we drove to school was, "I am not ready for this."