Metamorphosis

For those of you who have or have had (or have yet to have) adolescent daughters, you might understand why I've come to the conclusion that they are a creature worthy of scientific study and analysis. I'm thinking of investing in a pair of binoculars and some camouflage so I can hide out and watch Ruby Jane from afar. She's fascinating!

Just this morning she engaged in some sort of ritualistic dressing dance. From what I could gather through my observations, it was intended to get her into a pair of her uber-tight skinny jeans. I wish I could have videotaped it, but alas I will have to settle for a verbal description instead.

First she wriggled in and hopped around just to get the things on. Once they were up, stretching them out enough to zip and button them became the new, far more elusive, goal. I stared as she bent this way and that, stretching a leg here, dipping a knee there, and gyrating her hips in large circles. She would then suck in her pre-teen belly and make an attempt at clasping the button shut. Her first attempt failed, but she would not be so easily dissuaded. She increased the fervency of her actions, now doing hip flexors, deep squats and twists with gusto. If I hadn't known she was simply getting dressed, I might have assumed she was warming up for some sort of serious athletic event.

After this second (more extensive) set of stretches, Ruby exhaled forcefully, flattened her abs and pulled her pants together as tightly as she could. This was the big moment: could she get the button closed? I waited, holding my breath, and silently willed her success. But it was not to be. Her arms flopped to her sides as she recognized defeat, and she turned to me with an expression only a tween girl can arrange her face into. "Too tight?" I asked stupidly. "Yes!" came the exasperated reply.

At this moment I knew I needed to tread as carefully as if I were trying to woo a wild animal. I made myself as small as possible, stretched out my hand and lowered my voice to a soft, gentle cooing tone. "Sweetie, you're growing. It happens to everyone. Just go put on a pair of jeans that do fit, and we'll give those away, okay?" Getting rid of the offending jeans being one of the primary ways to diffuse the situation. It worked. She flew back to her bedroom and changed, happy to discard the jeans that had threatened her very delicate self-esteem.

Whew! That was a close call. I can see that further study will be needed in order to continue effectively handling this complex creature who is my daughter. But having a front row seat to the morphing process? I wouldn't trade it for anything. (Heck, it's incredibly entertaining...knock on wood.)