I confess that I don’t see my daughter as the bright, mature 13 year old that she is. I still see her as the smiley, happy-go-lucky 7 year old that she was 6 years ago.

She has started babysitting. There is something about my baby watching other people’s babies that causes massive anxiety in me. When I say babies, I mean babies. She is a good babysitter. She loves little kids. She has incredible patience. She once held a screaming baby for over a hour until the baby was calmed down; walking around, talking to her quietly, and getting her comfortable. She smiled through the whole ordeal.

When did she grow up? When did she amass such maturity? This can’t be my daughter. She is only 7. No, she isn’t.

She is on this bridge with one foot in the child’s world and one foot in the young women’s world. I am very proud of her, yet I have way too much anxiety over the whole thing. I can’t tell her this, so I am telling you. I confess that I am not going to be very good about this teenager thing unless I pull it together. Age two may have been physically exhausting, but these teen years are much harder on the nerves.