I walk into her bathroom and I spy some blush and lip gloss on the counter. It’s a new thing for us. It throws me back to my teen years, trying all the Wet ‘n Wild and Cover Girl, figuring out just the right shade against my pale skin, mousy brown hair and freckles. I smile when I think of those same freckles splayed across her nose and wonder if she realizes how beautiful I think they are.
I was scared of these days–this transition from little girl to woman. I dreaded them, closed my eyes and sighed when I thought of them. I think I thought some strange version of my little girl would emerge suddenly, one I wouldn’t recognize, or like. We’re only in the beginning; the wrestling has just begun. But, so far, I’m saying this stage is my favorite. She’s the same little girl and yet with so much more humor and understanding. We can look at each other and say things without a word. The years have taught us our own language.
And yet, at every stage I’ve said it’s my favorite. As it turns out, I love her no matter what.