I Blinked and Missed the Moment My Daughter Transitioned from Childhood

My daughter is nearing twelve, a remarkably mature eleven, if you ask me. (Yes, I’m biased, but the experience of watching your father battle brain cancer tends to mature you—at least emotionally.) Over the past few years, I’ve seen her experiment with the role of a young woman as she prepared to leave her childhood behind. Glimmers of the adult she would become were evident, but for the most part, she remained a child. Until yesterday. Yesterday, I blinked, and the child vanished.

I invited my daughter to get her nails done with me while her little brother was occupied. As always, I let her choose the place. I anticipated her to say the one with the “rainbow water,” as she usually does. Instead, she shrugged and replied, “eh, whatever’s closer.”

For a while now, she’s been dabbling in “grown-up” activities, pretending to care about teenage matters. She would sometimes dismiss the excitement of the “rainbow water,” only to change her mind at the last moment. She’d place toys into the donation box but would hesitate at parting with that one teddy bear. She’d express a desire to isolate herself in her room, but minutes later, she’d creep downstairs to see what her brother and I were up to.

But yesterday was different. The way she said “whatever’s closer,” the indifferent shrug, and her lack of enthusiasm for the “rainbow water,” which once thrilled her, struck me. Something had shifted, and it seemed to have happened in an instant. I had blinked, and I missed the moment she transitioned from a child to a young adult.

This change had been building for years. She had been doing everything necessary to discover who she was and who she wanted to become. She has been growing up, as I knew she would, and I wanted to cherish every moment, to be aware of the fleeting remnants of her childhood because I understand that “lasts” are just as significant as “firsts,” and often more challenging to recall.

There are already too many “lasts” that I didn’t store in my memory. I can’t recall the last time I rocked her to sleep, the last time she reached up to be held, or the last time she said, “I love you,” in her sweet, childlike way. Those moments slipped away unnoticed. I wasn’t going to let this last moment of her childhood pass me by.

Still, I did. I blinked, and I missed the transition from child to young adult.

Instead of visiting the nail salon with the rainbow water, we opted for a different one that was more convenient. I can’t tell you if there were lights in that water; my attention was solely on the young woman beside me who had just the day before seemed so much younger. For the first time, she chose a muted gray instead of a bright color. For the first time, rather than looking to me to speak for her, she answered on her own. Even her manner of speaking, the topics she discussed, and the tone of her voice reflected maturity.

It felt like a loss. I adored the young woman in front of me and felt pride for her, but I mourned the little girl she had been just a day earlier. Parenthood is a constant tug-of-war between missing what was and looking forward to what’s to come.

Later in the day, my son turned to his sister, his ever-present playmate. She wasn’t interested in playing. She hadn’t been for a while, but I could usually persuade her, even if just to indulge me. This time, I didn’t ask. She had matured, and it was time for me to acknowledge that. Instead, I told my son I would play with him. We devised a game that combined elements of soccer, basketball, and dodgeball, and invited her to join. She declined and sat on the sidelines, more young adult than child.

Until, unexpectedly, she stood up and joined in the game. This wasn’t a return to her childhood—the young woman was still there, laughing and enjoying herself. Yet it provided a glimmer of hope that perhaps we still had time for a few more childhood “lasts” as we stepped into a world filled with young adult “firsts.” It was a sign that even though I had blinked, maybe I hadn’t missed everything.

People often say, “the days are long, but the years are short.” They advise cherishing the days when your kids are young, as they will soon become teenagers and adults with lives of their own, which you’ll be invited into but often observe from the sidelines. Although such statements made me want to roll my eyes during those challenging toddler tantrums in grocery store lines, a part of me understood their truth. Too soon, those tantrums would fade away. (And I don’t miss those!) Before I knew it, they’d prefer texting me a grocery list instead of accompanying me to the store.

They just never mentioned that I would miss it regardless, that I wouldn’t be able to capture the moment they transitioned from child to young adult. Perhaps it’s too gradual, unfolding too slowly for the human heart and eye to perceive. Or maybe it happens in a blink, a mere fraction of a heartbeat. Ultimately, what matters is ensuring she knows she’s loved in every moment.

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I Blinked and Missed the Moment My Daughter Transitioned from Childhood

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