9 is the new 20.

My oldest daughter turned nine earlier this month. It's still very young, but anyone with girls can attest to the fact, that it's not as young as it used to be. Overnight, my little girl has turned into a deodorant wearing, eye rolling, skinny jeans obsessed teenager. She has become more excited about deodorant than any person I've ever seen. Both Husband and I have seen her sniffing her pits with glee and applying more "Degree Girl". Because it's "for girls, Mom".

How?

I have no idea. None. She's even asking about shaving her legs. (Not gonna happen any time soon, my dear. And you'll thank me for this later.) To quote a John Mellencamp song I particularly enjoy, "That's okay, I knew that this would happen, but I was hoping not today". I knew she would eventually start to transform from wide eyed child to dreaded tween. I knew she would. I just didn't think it would happen yet.

For now, I guess I'll be content that she still loves me more than she hates me, and isn't completely disgusted by my very presence. It's probably the best I can hope for at this point.