If its one thing I’ve learned about raising kids, it’s that they never cease to surprise you. And not in the good way, either. Oh yes, there are those times of kisses and hugs and ‘I love yous’ that make each day wonderful. But so often there are the can-I-disappear-kind surprises that make you realize that motherhood came with an honorary citizenship to crazytown.

I was once a calm person. Now I know exactly how long I can yell without going hoarse. I was once cool (hey, maybe it was all in my head, but that counts, right?). Well, all gone now. And it has only gotten worse since my daughter has made here first forays into the pubescent era of her life.

I used to laugh when my mother told me that I would always be her baby. I thought this was a another clever mom device for ensuring offspring embarrassment. But it turns out that there is some truth to it. My daughter is my baby. And babies don’t wear bras, or have crushes, or think about the mysteries of procreation. Just doesn’t happen. Except that it is.

I am trying to be prepared, trying to be supportive and open, and definitely filling out applications for nunneries. But failing that I shall just have to hunker down and make it through. And I know that if my daughter managed to leave me any dignity from her formative years, that  she will undoubtedly shred them in the years to come.

To her, I’m not ‘cool’, I’m dumb, the meanest parent in the world, I have no idea what is going on, and, oh, my favorite, I don’t know anything about boys. My only comfort is that someday she too will have a daughter to do the same to her as she is doing to me.

Let the games begin.

Muuwwwwwaaaaahhhhh.