Miss M is officially a tween. At eleven, she is beginning to show little hints of the woman she will one day be. Time has chiseled away at her face and is, startlingly quickly, revealing beautiful, angular cheekbones where chubby cheeks once were. Without me realising, she has grown in stature and is nearly as tall as me and only a shoe size away from becoming a sharing buddy. When she tries on my heels, she no longer totters around, comically playing at being a grown-up. My breath catches in my throat as I watch her instead, fitting almost convincingly into something that was once no more than a dress-up.
She refuses to wear the clothes I choose for her, often sighing and explaining apologetically that they’re too babyish. Her babyhood creates a tug-of-war between us – with her pulling away as I haul it closer, clutching it tight. Even though I know that her pull is stronger than mine, I hang on because DAMN IT, her childhood really has gone too fast and I am not ready.
Just yesterday, I stared open-mouthed at the positive sign on the pregnancy test that announced that my life was about to be upended and re-formed in the most exquisite of ways. That 38 weeks seemed endless, but really, it was only a microsecond in my memory. The day she was born, a new part of me was born too. A brand new baby and a brand new mum.
The not sleeping, refusing to eat, unpacking everything, bed-wetting, perpetual motion, utterly exhausting phase was endless, too, and I wished them away. In that chaotic bubble of time, I had no idea that what felt endless would, in retrospect, be a blink of an eye. It seems I hardly took a breath and another milestone had appeared.
Suddenly, my baby was behind a desk at school, running a race, dancing on the stage. She was a big sister – twice – and without warning she became my friend. With her dry sense of humour and intelligent thoughts, she changed the nature of our time together. My baby had become a child and was asserting herself as a valid person with theories and stories of her own. She had grown into a mentor for her siblings, too, getting them breakfast, teaching them the ins and outs of playground games, giggling by my side at how ‘cute’ they were.
Now, at eleven, she has a strong opinion and, as tweens do, she will assert it loudly. With hormones raging, she often rails at my decisions and yells that I don’t understand, I’m mean, I’m unfair! And so the tug-of-war plays out as I stubbornly hang on to her childhood and she, equally stubbornly, pulls towards adulthood.
Last week, when I was walking out of the school after dropping off Baby G at her pre-school class, I spotted Miss M, with a group of her friends. I began to walk over to say hello (as I have done countless times in the past). This time, when she spotted me approaching, instead of the smile and TV Commercial-worthy run up and hug, her eyes opened wide in alarm, she clenched her teeth and said “Mum, go! You’re embarrassing me!”
Stung, yet understanding, I smiled apologetically for cramping her style (remembering all too well how she felt because I was eleven too, once) and left. The tug of war game had shifted in favour of her growing up. Acceptance is sweet and sour, I’ve learned, and the miracle of witnessing her become herself, apart from her dad and I, was a balm on the pain I felt as she tore away from me that little bit more.
Acceptance is sweet and sour, I’ve learned, and the miracle of witnessing her become herself, apart from her dad and I, was a balm on the pain I felt as she tore away from me that little bit more.
I spent that night digesting these facts: Miss M was growing up. I was no longer the centre of her universe. I was no longer cool. I was embarrassing. I prided myself on my own rite of passage – that of the tween parent. Adolescence, I was realising more and more, was not going to be something experienced by Miss M alone, but by her Dad and I, too.
The next day, as I walked in to the school to fetch Baby G and Little Man from their classrooms, I spotted Miss M and her friends playing sport. With great restraint, I didn’t yell out or even wave. Which is why I was so surprised when she grinned, left her friends and came running over to me. With gleaming eyes, she took hold of my hand and squeezed it, then happily walked into school by my side, hand-in-hand.
As I walked, her delicate hand ensconced in mine, listening to her lightning-fast chatter with not a breath between thoughts, peppered with the enthusiasm that only innocence can bestow, I tried to act normal, lest I tip her off and remind her of the adulthood she’d momentarily forgotten that she so badly wanted. I took a mental picture of this moment and willed it to stretch out just a little longer.
I felt that tug-of-war mercifully slacken in that bubble of time and I took a deep breath. I looked at my baby girl who, in that moment, was not fighting to be a grown-up and I soaked it in the way you appreciate the view on the last day of a vacation.
I’ve learned that every moment with our kids passes more quickly than we expect. I’ve learned that living in the moment means stopping to look – really look – and see the blessings that are right in front of me.
Soon enough, the hand-holding days will be gone and we will be in the midst of a new, dynamic phase. The common thread is, as cliched as it may be, the love I have felt for her and her siblings from the first time I saw a positive pregnancy test and every nanosecond since.
Time changes seasons, it has taken me on a journey of her growth and it has forced me to say goodbye to her onesies, pig-tails and skipping ropes.
I’ve learned that, while looking back often feels like I’m losing something precious, looking forward will always reveal a new phase and a bounty of memories yet to be formed and added with care to my ever-growing collection of Treasured Moments in Time.
Beautiful and touching! My oldest just turned 11 this Saturday. I’m sighing wistfully . . .
It’s wonderful and gut-wrenching all at once, isn’t it! Happy birthday for your little man.
Thanks! (And it’s a little woman).
Oops – sorry! I somehow read ‘son’ somewhere in there. Can I blame 5am?
Oh my, I read 5am as Sam and I spent the next minute wondering who Sam was. Can I blame 11pm?
That’s brilliant. Let’s just blame Sam anyway. Poor Sam, whoever he is…
Lol! Yeah, from now on any time something goes wrong or wonky, “SAM!!!”
Dear Mummy, As my children married and had children, I cautioned them, “Don’t wish their lives away. In the blink of an eye, your precious little ones will be grown and on their own.”
And, now, in the blink of an eye, it’s happening again.
ENJOY EACH MOMENT! WHEN IT’S GONE, IT’S GONE.
And for you, it’s now the gorgeous grand babies
THOSE, I think you get to enjoy double.
Hi Michelle, this was such a beautiful and touching story of holding on …. and letting go. It is so so hard, I know! My words of wisdom, just hold on, it’s going to be an emotional ride. Mine’s 16 and thankfully we are close. I treasure every passing moment, but the teen years test your sanity big time! Happy 11th to Miss M!
Thanks Lisa
I’m hanging on like a Rottweiler.
It’s not an easy transition. My tween is my youngest, my last so it is twice as sad knowing my parenting number is nearly up!
Hang on, Mama! (Then come back and tell me what’s next…)
That back and forth between young girl and woman is a wonderful dance that goes on for a tween/teen for quite a while. I am still recovering from the whiplash of it all with my daughter who is 18. One minute we are hugging and laughing and the next she has snapped my head off and twisted it around with her words and tone of voice. Ugh. But is a tender time and your post captures the beauty and sorrow of it together. I wrote a piece on my blog earlier this week that is related if you care to check it out: http://www.themagicofmothering.com/blessing-for-my-daughter/
Thank you for this beautiful comment and for sharing your post. Your writing is superlative and I’m sure my readers will love your blog as I do.
Beautifully written, makes me look at my 10 year old son and panic! I don’t want him to grow up!!! Stay small for longer my little man.
I’m right there with you. I have a 12 year old daughter. I’m not ready for her to pull away and yet I know it’s inevitable.
Reblogged this on Action Jackson and Marveled Mommy and commented:
Omg I don’t want my little super hero to grow up ever. Is there a way we can freeze time because these kids are growing way too fast and mommy can’t keep up. I dread the day Jackson doesn’t want to say hi to me in public. Ahhhhh real monsters