Milestones

My child. Every time I see her, an avalanche of love tumbles through my heart. When she goes away for a sleepover or off to Girl Scout camp for a night or two or three, even when she leaves out for the first day back at school after being near me all summer, a little hole pops up until she comes home. And the moment I see her, I smile. Inside and out. I love to tuck her in at night and plant a soft kiss on her cheek while she sleeps, dreaming the dream of princesses beloved and adored. I love to put my arm around her and pull her close, if only for a moment, and feel that swell of joy that pumps into my body. Life could not be more precious to me since she has come into it.

Today, we reached a milestone. Not the milestones of babyhood - the first steps, the first tooth. These are the milestones of tweens moving into teens and they are not the sweet, worry-free, oh-that's-how-it's-supposed-to-be milestones, even though that is how it's supposed to be. But they are milestones and there is a sweetness to them along with the worry. Today when I picked her up from school she stretched her hand into the window to hand me something before she got in. "What's this?" I ask. "Read it," she tells me. "It's a flower." "Ah," I say as I begin to read the penciled words around it's edge. It says, "To Rachel From Will Smith". "Oh!" I think to myself. "That's so sweet of him," I say out loud. "Do you know what this means?" she asks me in a knowing way. I smile both happy for her and dreading it, too. "Yes, I do," I answer. "He likes me," she says, all sweet and smiling and happy that some boy has chosen her above all others to give this little first crush gift to. "Yes," I say, looking off beyond her, wondering what he looks like, if he'll be kind to her, if he'll be careful with her if her heart moves into this. "First crushes are nice," I say, hoping she reads between the lines and hears that they are firsts and fleeting and never forever this early in life. Hoping she hears that she should protect her heart, her virtue, her feelings but still enjoy this next milestone, this next feeling.

I doubt at 11, nearly 12, that there is much I need to worry about. But we will spend some time this next week, Fall Break, when we are home together every day to have a very serious talk about waiting. Waiting for the first real kiss, waiting for more than holding hands and a quick, simple hug, waiting for all the things some kids move far to quickly into both these days and in my day.

I'm not really worried. She has a wonderful, firm conviction about her virtue and an understanding that she is still very young and a daughter of God to be respected. She knows her body is a temple, a sweet and precious blessing from God to be treated as the finest jewel. But she will need the tools that every young girl should be given from her mother - or when mother is not available in their lives - by some other trusted, loving woman. Her final serious words were, "Someone likes me back this time," with an amazed and pleased look on her face.

Once home, the joking started. "Daddy will want to get a shotgun now, Mama," she said. "Yes he will. But Mama won't let him. Let's just not say anything to him about this for a while, okay?" I answer. Sigh. Dads.