There are many thoughts the contrast of these two photos bring up. Here are a few:

Number one: I am feeling more and more certain that all children are first God’s and then, some way or another, they find themselves to a mother. I am pretty agnostic about how this happens or why this happens, or who actually ends up playing the role of “mother”. I don’t think “mother” really has to do with genes, or gender, or who carried the baby in gestation - though the fact that I carried and birthed children conceived by my husband and myself probably quickened my attachment to them.

The actual role of mother is really guardian and teacher. Nurturer. Your children do not “belong” to you. They are not a magically merged extension of yourself: a chance to be you, only better in a second-generation do-over. Children are their own people, beloved by God, whom mothers get to protect and cherish and love and raise. And ultimately, a mother’s job transitions. The old form of it ends. Must end. Because the children we raise must grow up and become their own fully-independent beings.

Looking at the young woman my daughter is becoming, and she’s only twelve (I know! The camera lies!), I am so acutely aware of this. She is her own. Not mine. Not her father’s. Her own. And I am so in awe of who she is.

Second: Damn, parenting is hard! When I was 12, I don’t remember going to a “semi-formal” school dance but if I did, I would likely have worn an ankle length Laura Ashley dress (or knock off) in a pastel floral design, very tan pantyhose that came in a plastic egg from the drug store, and a pair of off-season white Pappagallo flats. My bangs would be in their feathered, side-sweep position and lacquered with hairspray. And I would have been wearing a lot of makeup that included blue eyeliner and very glossy white-pink lipstick (e.g. Zinc Pink). Yes, that is most definitely what I would have worn.

Not so, my daughter. I’m not sure if it’s an improvement, but thanks to TikTok and Instagram, her fashion choices are a lot more sophisticated than mine. I suppose we were both dressing above our age, it’s just that my model of sophistication was Lady Diana + Madonna. Hers is not. Fashion has been through grunge, minimalism, Heroine chic, and back in the ensuing 30 years. Is she better off for it? I’m not sure. But surely my ankle length dresses didn’t invoke the same anxiety gut-punch I experienced when I saw my daughter dressed thusly. Of course, in high school there was the 90s velvet off-the-shoulder dress and the tuxedo-bustier number my mother blessed so maybe it’s just a matter of timing. All parents have to deal with the fact that their baby girls will grow in to sexual beings. But do they have to look like sexual beings so dang young?

Lastly…OMG! How are these two images only a few years apart? The cliché is so very sadly true: in the blink of an eye, they are grown.