Somehow, I became the mom of a child in her last year of elementary school, on the precipice of entering middle school, which of course leads to high school and then to college. And I don't like it one bit.
My kid is aging me.
I'm thrilled with the young lady she is, and I love having a child who can dress herself and make breakfast for herself and arrange times to hang out with her friends by herself (instead of me having to be her social secretary and setting up the dreaded "play dates"). I love having some of my freedom back, as she develops her own freedom. All in all, a pretty good deal.
But, hello. I still feel like a 22 year old in my head (although my frown and laugh lines betray me far too often to say I *look* like a 22 year old). I cannot possibly be old enough to have a 6th grader, who is 11 going on 25. Who wore lipstick to school yesterday. Who needed the right necklace to match her dress. Who fussed over which shoes were perfect with the length of this particular hem. These are not the things that a child of a young woman such as myself would be considering!
|True Jersey Kid, in the dress, jewelry, makeup, and flowers she selected for herself. She pretty much kicks all the ass.|
Yet, here we are. I'm getting older and so is she.
I keep wanting to freeze her in time because she is so perfect...and I guess as much as those attempts fails, I fail to freeze myself in time, as well.
The good news: we are both growing into strong women, and I'm happy with how we each have grown. The bad news: I think she will be a grown up before I am ;)