The Girl and I got into a spat this morning. It wasn’t serious but it was frustrating.
ME: That skirt doesn’t touch your knees – pretty sure you can’t wear it to school.
HER: It does so! *ineffectual tug, ineffectual tug* See?
ME: Really? Change skirts. I don’t want them to send you home.
HER: They aren’t going to send me home!
It wasn’t so much the skirt. I actually kind of liked her outfit. Stripey socks and Jack Skellington T-shirt FTW!
No. It was the immediate jump to arguing that made me see red. Because this has been happening a lot. A whole lot. She will argue with me about anything and everything. Heck, she argues with me about stuff we agree on. It’s like she can’t help herself.
And, I know that it is because she is twelve and asserting her independence and becoming her own person and yadda yadda yadda. I am cool with that. Sorta. Kinda. Maybe.
OK. I am cool with it in theory. But it still is difficult to experience. One, because it is just goddamn annoying to have everything you say brought up as a debate point. Two, because it means that she isn’t wholly my Girl, anymore. She is becoming an adult, someone who – in theory – thinks and decides for herself. Which is very cool and keen and all that. But it doesn’t make it easier.
Especially when we are arguing about whether the sky is blue.