The day has finally arrived. Shit. Shit. Shit.
Our little Princess has reached an age where she’s forced to jump into the cesspool of hormones, commonly known as high school. By the way, may I still call you Princess? What am I saying, I’m your father and I can call you Princess until the day you die. I’ve earned that right after changing numerous soiled nappies and burping you in the middle of the night. O-kay most of that was Mom but I did manage to squeeze in a few parental duties during your formative years, like allowing you to wrap me around your little finger. So you will remain my Princess irrespective of how many years you move away from your birth date.
Back to the shit that happened today…
I’m having a panic attack. I did request the teachers from primary school to keep you there for another year but they ignored my request. “She’s a clever girl,” they said. “She’s more than ready,” they said. “She’ll be fine,” they said.
BUT I WASN’T DOING IT FOR YOUR BENEFIT! Jeez.
Did anyone stop and consider my emotional turmoil? My anxiety? Does anyone even care if I’m ready for such a big step? Because I’m not. Wife gave me the look this morning. The look that says: “Grow a pair.” Now I have to suck it up. Zip it and try to control myself whilst Princess takes another falfie…(It’s what I call a family selfie)
When did my little Princess turn into such an amazing young woman? Right here under our roof with no warning signs whatsoever!
I can still clearly see your chubby little body as they placed you next to Mom’s face in that surgery. And how that made you stop screaming instantaneously. Screaming was one of the things you did REALLY well. You sounded like a deranged hyena. We considered sound proofing our home just to make sure the neighbours wouldn’t break our door down, wanting to safe you from your abusive parents. You were so very beautiful, our own fat, cute, little baby.
And then you grew older, always running and laughing like a Heffalump with two white, pig tails bopping all over the place. I’ll always remember how you sang and performed to no-one, an imagination I was envious of. You were careless and free. (You still are, so please don’t lose it!) I remember your first day of school, albeit it seven short years ago, you were so excited to go. You ran ahead and basically forgot to say goodbye to us. Time flies so quickly and now you are entering a new chapter of your life.
It’s stating the obvious that you’re definitely not the cute, chubby little girl you were at age three. You have always been beautiful, but now…wow! And others are noticing it too. “Others” being boys. I’m gonna have to manage them because they’re not necessarily going to be looking at your bright, blue eyes when they talk to you… I think I will shoot the first boy you bring home, just to sent a message to the “others”.
I’m kidding. I’ll be fine, I promise. As soon as I stop sobbing.
It’s a new school year. A new adventure, your adventure. You are going to have the time of your life. That’s what you do. You grab life by the cahoonas, wrestle it to the ground, until you flip it on it’s back. Then you start to tickle it until life can’t hold it anymore and wets itself.
And you know why I’m so confident that you are going to be fine? Because Mom and I are going to love you through it. Like we always do. There is only one question that remains:
Are you ready to make more memories?