I look at her sometimes and I wonder how she got so lucky. How is she getting through life by skipping one critical, ridiculously painful phase? The one we all try to forget.
The awkward one.
Who’d she pay off to get that short cut? Or, perhaps scarier, what if this is her awkward phase? Oh, my heart. It’s possible it’s still to come. But, she already survived braces.
It’s true, as her mom, I may be blinded by things. I think all of my maniacs, even the two bonus ones I’m lucky enough to love, are just such lookers. Absolute heartbreakers.
The freckles. The sweet, soft hearts. The well-timed winks from the boys and the perfect mix of sass-sarcasm-smarts and effortless beauty from the girls. And, they’re nice. Like, what?
Maybe it’s the decade? At least for my oldest?
Despite being in junior high, she’s not subjected to the hideous fashion trends of the actual late-80s/early-90s that I chose to support when I was navigating the same phase of life. She’s only influenced by the remakes of that era that are floating around now, the greatest hits I suppose.
And, she gets a hard “no” from me whenever she starts to bat her miles-long eyelashes at stonewashed jeans. Because, I’m just trying to protect her. It’s what we’re supposed to do as parents.
She’s seen that junior high is supposed to be the worst terror anyone experiences. She’s heard it hyped that way. I have even given pep talks to remind her that everyone she knows who is older than her survived junior high.
And this non-awkward, completely-against-stereotype situation is what she was dealt. Maybe that’s just junior high proving itself as unpredictable as it actually is?