In defense of the pre-teen girl.

My daughter turned 13 today.

That means the dreaded 'tween' phase of ages 10-13 is behind us.  

From all that could be read and observed on the social media and television platforms, this phase was one we should definitely have been worried about, especially with a girl! I remember when my daughter was this sweet little magical unicorn of a 6 year old, and I'd look ahead to all the mamas of teenage girls with fear and trembling. I approached these years all wide eyed and tip toe-y like.. as if at any moment I might awaken the beast everyone had warned me would come raging out of my child over the next couple years. Well standing on this side, it's not like I don't know what everyone was talking about. But for the sake of all my friends still looking ahead to the pre-teen mystery and wondering if all the hype and panic is legitimate, I'm gonna go ahead and say y'all need to calm down just a smidge. Mmkay? 

I'm here to defend the tween in all her awkward and emotional glory.  In my humble opinion these years were an incredible gift, and one I will look back on with fondness and fascination.

Now don't get me wrong. I am not trying to paint a picture of serenity and bliss. Nope. Not in this household, pretty much EVER. Oh, the drama. The increasingly well-timed disrespect. Let's face it, the straight up crazy that can spew forth from a pre-teen, hormonal girl is no joke. There were days that held so many tears and screaming, I'm sure the neighbors were ready to call CPS.. or animal control.. (cat fight reference...smirk..)

But fascination? Oh YES. 

I'm pretty sure I spent the first 10 years of my daughter's life thinking she was older than she was and expecting her to act like it. I'm definitely sure I'll spend the next 10 feeling like she's younger than she is and struggling to grant her the freedom and respect that she'll deserve. But from 10-13? I think maybe this sweet spot of 3 years might just be the tiny little window where kids get to be exactly their own age. They are the perfect storm of too big and too little and it creates a whole mess of confusion as they hop back and forth; trying on attitudes, interests, and levels of maturity like clothes in a closet. 

One day my girl would spend an hour in her bathroom, playing with her curling iron and piecing together a perfectly matched outfit. She'd come prancing out looking shiny and feminine and asking if she could borrow my necklace. 

The next three in a row I'd be fighting with her to TAKE A BLOODY SHOWER FOR THE LOVE OF EVERYTHING HOLY and please, dear Lord PLEASE change out of the too small and stained shirt from 2nd grade camp before you go to school! To which she'd shrug her smelly shoulders, flip her unbrushed greasy hair and roll her sleep crusted eyes like,

'What's your problem mom? I look fine.'

Confession: this schizophrenia drove me NUTS at first. But oh friends, look closer and let the beauty hit you. Grown women should BE so lucky! To live in a world of security, where getting dressed up is fun and frivolous, but the sense of self is high and unshaken. To walk with solid confidence that you are not loved or liked for what you look (or smell..) like. Oh that is a sweet world indeed. One it takes many of us decades to get back to once we leave it.. if we get back at all.  

This self-care realization laid some ground work for my heart to appreciate the phenomenon of my pre-teen girl. She was becoming a fantastic person right before my very eyes. In the safety of our home she bounced back and forth. Big, little, big. Sense of humor, responsibility, the art of conversation and the depth of interpersonal communication. Relationship navigation, fashion and yes, even basic hygiene. 

She was practicing them all, with ME. 

So sure, I got all the fumbles and mistakes. I got all the wrongly timed jokes and the emotions that didn't match the circumstances. I fielded the over commitments and the under preparedness, I absorbed the embarrassment of awkwardness her innocence didn't yet feel and I was target practice for the egocentric arrows she didn't even know she was shooting. 

But she was learning. And growing. And transforming. 

In the last three years I have watched her increase in beauty, inside and out. I have watched her laugh and talk with ease in social settings. I have watched her sense tone and atmosphere in a situation and respond appropriately. She now takes care of other people's children with immense joy and capability, and her help around my house is actually helpful! (Can I get a hallelujah?!) I have witnessed her growth in the process of reconciliation, her humility and apologies often put me to shame. We have had deep and meaningful conversations; we have shared witty banter, sarcasm and shoes.  I have watched her become incredibly driven. Seen her work SO hard earning her own money, managing her own schedule, and charting her own course. 

And yet, she giggles. And maps out dreams that are far too wild. She dances freely and gushes dramatically; and she cries in the safety of her parent's bed when everything feels too big. 

I told you. Fascinating. 

So mamas, and internet nay sayers everywhere. I post this in honor of my daughter's 13th birthday, and in defense of pre-teens everywhere. We get to watch these girls bounce around blissfully for just a couple of years. Let's pause for a second longer before we push them through that door too quickly shall we?  Let 'em be silly and awkward. Let 'em try and fail. Pick them up from their puddle of tears and maybe once or twice let them stomp down the hall indignant without raining fiery fury down upon them in consequence. 

Let 'em primp when they're primping and smell when they're smelling... and let us smile at the safety they're enjoying in the midst of it. Because that's all you mamas.

That's all you.