by Mel (Mon Jul 27, 2009)
I always thought that ‘pre-teenage' was a concept made up by trashy clothing manufacturers so they could sell crop tops and pseudo-sexy underwear to nine year olds. Then my nine year old - in sensible Marks & Spencer underwear - discovered hormones. With no warning she morphs from helpful, playful, clear-eyed delight, into sullen, aggressive, flouncing monster with a predilection for slamming doors. It has dawned on me that children's bodies don't magically transform on their 13th birthday. I have worked out - durr - that it can happen before then. I thought I had loads of time left to prepare, but it turns out the hormone fest has started, and I've been caught short. I had no idea that the desire to dress like a low-class hooker is innate. It is definitely not behaviour learned from Mummy. Mummy is stuck in a student time warp where she still thinks it's ok to wear Doc Martens and cardigans. Daughter on the other hand has resorted to wearing her 7-year-old sister's tops. They are too small, very tight and very short. Just what she wants. Left to her own devices she would have a hem line that barely concealed her arse. I have already had to say, ‘you're not going out in that young lady,' which by my calculations, is five years before I thought I'd have to.
Boobs. I was not prepared for boobs. I thought I'd be the only one needing a bra in our house for a good few years to come. But from nowhere came the boobs. I've tried to pretend they are not there, but often find myself staring in appalled fascination. I'm not the only one. Her friends have been gawping whilst they all change for P.E. and to spare my girl's blushes I've had to invest in some pretty crop tops for her. She's both excited and burdened by her developing body.
I did not expect to feel scared that my eldest girl is getting older. Up until now it has been exciting and fun to celebrate her birthdays - all pretty pink icing and girly fun. Now all of a sudden I can see girly fun on the horizon, but it is the kind that may involve drink or drugs and hiding bad, bad things from Mummy.
Perhaps the worst part is no longer knowing the parenting rules. Babies, toddlers and young children, I can do. I am firm and decisive - an adult. But now I get embroiled in slanging matches with my eldest. I don't calmly say my piece and retreat, I respond angrily to what she has just shouted. I shout back. I find myself shaking with rage and then bursting into tears. I wish I could blame it on my own hormonal rushes, but I think it's my failure to get with the plan and work out how to be a reasonable parent to a pre-teenager.
During the last school holidays, I did make some progress. My daughter is aching to be more independent around the house, and in particular wants to do the cooking. So we embarked on a bridge-building, bolognese-making exercise, with me as coach. Within minutes we were talking non-stop. Initially, much of it was me telling her how to chop onions and dissect a red pepper. But before long we were discussing the merits of non-stick pans, the usefulness of wooden spatulas, and why pancakes are very difficult to make. As we waited for stuff to cook, she played on her Nintendo DS and I did a bit of washing-up. The ambiance was relaxed, and we hadn't traded a single snippy comment about why she can't wear make-up every day, or how embarrassing my singing is.
So maybe, the way through this tricky pre-teen stage, is to do more stuff together. I will just have to remember not to sing along to Nickelback, or attempt any sort of dance movement whilst in her company. As long as I follow those basic ground rules, hopefully we'll make it through to her teens intact. Although, if I'm finding this stage such a struggle, I've no idea how the teenage stuff will pan out. I suspect we could end up eating a lot of bolognese.
