T Minus 255 Days Until D-Day

Remember way back on December 21, 2012? When the end of the Mayan calendar meant the end of the world? Little did the Mayans know that the end of the world is actually October 1, 2013. That's the day my daughter turns 13.

Recently my daughter commented that she was excited about her birthday because she'll be a teenager. She might be excited but I felt like I was punched in the stomach. I'm sure had I not been driving, she would have seen the look of abject terror on my face. I'm pretty sure that I'm not ready for a teen aged daughter. No, I'm positive.

My daughter has always been my most difficult child. (I say most difficult because my youngest has "Third Child Syndrome" and has his moments. But he's a story for another day.) She's the only child I have that looks exactly like me. Which is probably part of the problem. She acts like me too. Only, not the good child that I was at her age, but the pain in the ass adult that I am now. And that was BEFORE hormones. I shudder to think how those fabulous chemical combinations are going to add to her charm.

For the last year I've seen her start to get girl parts. Girl parts! No, I know she had them but not REAL ones. The kind that come with monthly menstrual misery. We haven't had that particular fun yet. And lest I draw a relieved breath too soon, her doctor squelched that at her last check up. Apparently menses begin about a year and a half after the onset of puberty. She's basically a ticking time bomb. I've considered checking out real estate for a safe haven for my boys when our cycles sync up. 

Don't get me wrong, signs were there that big change is coming. She's starting to take an interest in the clothes she wears rather than just anything she grabs out of the closet. She's following fashion trends. (Boy did that apple fall far from my tree!) She purposely wears wild socks that often don't match her outfit. Apparently this is a cool middle school thing. I just know it drives the anal retentive matcher in me crazy. But you learn to pick your battles and socks are really just not an important squabble. 

Another sign was her bedroom. She was always my neat and tidy one. Always made her bed, everything put away in it's place. She really made the organizational freak in me proud. The last few months, though, her room is making the transition from clean, normal young girl room to sloppy teenager room. One that shouts, "I'll pick this up when Mom starts nagging me and not a moment sooner!"

Because I had this wonderful (interject heavy sarcasm there) transition myself before I was her age, we've prepared her for the eventuality. She has a small makeup case in her backpack with a change of undies and panty liners in case it happens at school. We've discussed what she'd say to excuse herself from class. I have 4 different kinds of feminine products under the bathroom sink. Outwardly, I'm a doomsday prepper. Mentally, I'm a 4 year old who refuses to believe this change is imminent.

So if you don't hear from me on October 2, send someone to check on me. If we spend too much time in a hostile environment, we'll become feral creatures who hate light and hiss at strangers. They'd make a lifetime movie of the week about us. And I'd hate all the flashing cameras and strangers.