She is asking for her first bra; his feet just outgrew mine–they are working hard at the job of growing up, and I’d better grow too, because right now I can barely handle this change.
When I unpacked his bag from the 6th grade coast trip, I didn’t cry as I reached for that small stick of deodorant, a sure sign of him entering a wholly new stage of life, and I sort of came to terms with it. And hello! I’m awfully glad he has it.
And when I did laundry, I also came to terms with the little “bralette” of the girl just one step down from the deodorant boy with the expanding feet. Every single child grows up.
And that’s all I have to say about the matter. They all grow up, whether I embrace the stages or fight the stages, or worse yet stubbornly ignore them, it happens. I thought I might have some wisdom to share about how to handle this metamorphosis, but it turns out I don’t. I am just along for the ride, and like the roller coaster pictures you see of folks at the wild amusement parks, I hope my snapshot shows me thrilled with delight and not screaming in terror.