Tania Lorena Rivera

I can see them, the subtle changes happening in my daughter.  I see them every day.  In how she lingers in front of the mirror to arrange a strand of hair.  In how she wants to apply face cream and wear tinted lip balm, just like mom.  In her careful selection of clothes.  No, not the glittery pink one.  The cool blue one.  In how she talks about a boy from school named Milo and how ‘her friend’ thinks he’s cute.  In how she flattens her shirt, stares down at her chest and asks me if she needs a bra yet.  Not yet, sweetheart, but soon.  I see those changes every day, and the realization of how quick the sands of time slip by is scary.

Yes, puberty is knocking on my daughter’s door, and it means I will soon have The Talk with her.  But I am postponing that dreadful day for just a bit longer.  I fear the moment I dispense the knowledge to her about the birds and the bees and the changes that will occur in her body, in that very instant, that door will swing wide open and out will go running my little girl.  Wind catching her brown locks and making waves in her dress, she’ll run pass me with that infectious, uninhibited little girl laughter, and she’ll disappear without turning around, without waving goodbye.  My jubilant, carefree, funny, little girl who loves making silly faces will be replaced by an older, more mature and, I suspect, more serious girl, waiting in the entrance to come in.