Daddy's Little Girl

O spent a good part of the morning trying on a few different camisoles underneath her white V-neck top. She finally settled on a dark brown ribbed tank that flattered her darker complexion and complemented the dark stitching around the neckline of the outer top, although I doubt she cared about either. I noticed how "grown up" she appeared and commented on it to her (perhaps for the 10th time this weekend). She is a self-proclaimed Fashion Diva and loves funky socks and cool hats. Yet, she's a truly down-to-earth kid and a typical "tween". We started the schoolyear with some small concerns about the physical changes occuring in her body. After lots of Mom & Daughter talks, a few read-a-louds with Dad and the help of American Girl's The Care and Keeping of You, and a wonderful dialogue between her and her very understanding male teacher, O was able to shrug off her anxiety. I don't think the same can be said of her poor father who was appalled to notice a year ago that his firstborn had begun to develop "buds" overnight. As he approached her for their ritual morning hug and kiss today, he glanced at her briefly then turned wide-eyed toward me. I smiled knowingly. He looked back at her as she said, "What's wrong, Daddy?" He quickly recovered and hugged her tightly, eyes nearly bulging now. He let go of O and she moved away from him to clear her spot at the table. He motioned for me to follow him out of hearing range. "What on earth.....how....when did we go from "buds" to "cleavage"?!? The poor man was so bewildered. I laughed then. "Honey, she is always very 'covered' with hoodies and layers. Today she chose something else, and that's okay." In fact, it was a fairly modest top. He shook his head, still in shock. For him, this was anything but okay. Daddy's little girl was no longer a little girl.