“Size Me Up,”

by Gina Pangione

            Last September, when my lanky seven-year-old daughter, Sabrina, grew into the same size clothes as mine, albeit “girls” size vs. “adult” size, but still the same number on the collar or waist tag, I was thrilled, because, to me, her body’s graduation to the next level meant a new mental plateau for her, too.  First, she and I had gained a deepened sense of respect for one another, both as people, and as mother and daughter.  Also, her wily sense of humor was developing, and we began sharing a very smart, cheeky, witty banter, more often than not.  In addition, though she’s still “my little girl,” she’s accepted a bit more maturity in her attitude and demeanor, and she feels more comfortable sharing her views on the world in a more deliberate, expanded manner.  Sabrina seemed to have achieved all of these qualities as soon as she “sized up” to my same clothing size at the start of second grade.

            Well, since September, she’s continued to grow her mind and spirit, as well as her body, and this spring, she’s sprouted once more to the very next size up on the rack.  Well, this time, when she did, I was far from thrilled.  In fact, I cried.  Yes, I even sobbed!

But, this time it wasn’t because she’s now able to actually read the washing instructions on her clothes, or mathematically compute the cost of her new lightweight pajamas (momentous feats attained over the course of second grade).  No, for these achievements, I smile with pride. 

When she grew into the next larger size this time, I didn’t cry because my lovely daughter has developed into a strong, confident athlete with solid potential.  No, when she runs down the soccer field, trips over her laces and scrapes her knees, and then gets right back up to give it her best shot on net, I applaud with thunderous praise and gleeful excitement.

And, I didn’t weep because now the boys are pulling her hair until she agrees to go to their birthday parties.  Instead, I just smile, give her a hug, tell her it’s normal for boys to get mean to get her attention, and then discreetly tell her father that he’d better start working out a bit more. 

            Finally, I did not sadden at the thought that, someday soon, we might actually be wearing and sharing each other’s clothes.  I look forward to this shared rite of passage with my darling daughter.

            The reason my heart wrenched with pain and angst, and I wept puddles of tears, was because, at the same time that she’s sized up again, well, so did I.!!