My daughter is only 9, but I feel the tweens fast-approaching. I’m already hearing the non-stop requests for a cell phone, rides in the front seat and solitary trips to the mall. Somehow that signifies her aging more so than height and breast development (of which I’m also not fond).
I’m also getting the eye-rolling and drawn-out “maaoooom.” (Mom for those of you who do not have daughters this age.) This often follows my denials of her requests. Then she adds how EVERYONE ELSE gets to do whatever she is asking about. It’s very difficult not to give the Brooklyn Bridge line, but I just can’t go there. I want to be considered a cool mom somewhat.
Maybe I should just give that aspiration up right now. Things would be a lot easier if I had no qualms about how I looked in her eyes. I could dress her in a one-piece orange jumpsuit (for safety in every way). I would hold her hand wherever we went. I would let her watch only Baby Einstein videos for one hour a day. I would never let her consume sugar. And I would never let her talk to boys. Ever. You can never be too safe.
The Fretful Mother's Blog 
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