My Daughter Is a Young Lady. I Do Not Like It.

Do you have a teen-aged daughter? When was the first time you saw her as a woman? Can you remember how that made you feel?

It happened to me on Facebook while I was looking at her recently updated profile picture. I told her to take the picture down (I was half serious.) I told her to put her hair in pig tails. Yes, yes–I know I have to let her grow up. But why does she have to do it in front of me? And isn’t it supposed to happen on a Saturday night as she walks down the stairs prepared for a first date? Or, better yet, at her wedding? It certainly isn’t supposed to happen on Facebook.

daughter looking older

Ruth Is Thirteen Today

Ruth As a Little Girl Peaking Out of Her Playhouse

Okay. I can’t get past the title of this post. No. Freakin’. Way. My daughter is officially a teenager.

Ruth laughs the hardest.
She cries the easiest.
She cheers the loudest.
She mopes the most.
She disappears in her room for hours at a time.
She volunteers to clean the dishes.
She smiles the brightest.
She pouts when she doesn’t get what she wants.

You get the idea. What I’m trying to say is, Ruth is perfect, and I love her to pieces.

The boys (she often calls her brothers that…”the boys”) get tired of me saying, “But she’s the princess!” When I started saying it, making them tired of it was the point. It was a joke, an attempt to diffuse anger or laugh at frustrating situations. But somewhere along the way she really has become the princess. And I don’t care! She handles her royality well. Ruth takes a lot of good-natured crap from all of us. “Takes” being the operative word. She handles it with grace. Most of the time. And the times that she doesn’t? Who cares? ‘Cause she’s the princess.

You were the last one born, and yours is the last of the summer birthdays. It’s appropriate, because you complete our family. I love you.

Happy birthday, Ruth.