"Look, Daddy," my 9-year-old daughter says proudly as she reaches into a shopping bag and pulls out two little brassieres (with small padded cups!).
Padded bras? “Why in the world, did you buy her padded bras?” I ask my wife (she’s only nine for goodness sake, what is going on here?).
My wife tells me they are actually lined, not padded (and the difference to me being?), and are better because they cover up any unwanted protrusions (protrusions? She’s nine!.. Can I repeat “for goodness sake” again?… Ok, she’ll be ten in late January but still).
Whether I want to admit it or not, my little girl is physically maturing faster than we expected (or I am prepared to handle) and it seems, as people always tease, payback is just around the corner. Noooooooo!!!! (as Luke Skywalker yells out when he finds out Darth Vader is his father, or, for the younger generation, when Buzz Lightyear discovers the same about Emperor Zurg).
I should have known something was up with her development when she started losing her baby teeth by the age of four (fortunately, my younger daughter is six and has yet to start losing her baby teeth).
It seems like only yesterday, I was in a birthing room at South Miami Hospital when my cone-headed and purple-colored firstborn daughter arrived in this world (like her dad, she had wrapped herself in her mom’s umbilical cord). I’ll be honest, being a first time dad, I was a bit concerned when I saw this dark little creature come forth. But soon, the nurses cleaned her up and her skin started turning pink, and I breathed a sigh of relief.
It was love at first sight. They placed her in my wife's arms and we held her together in a family embrace and cried (yes, I’m a crier and am proudly in touch with my feminine side).
I love my girls. When my wife got pregnant four years ago, I was convinced I was having another (at least I was psyching myself mentally so as to not get disillusioned if, what I thought, the inevitable happened). After the first two, I had convinced myself that I was only going to produce girls, known in Cuban language, as a “chancletero.” I have at least three friends that fit this description. However, God gave us a boy instead. (and yes, Cuban is a language)
While my girls are still young, considering how fast life comes at us, before I know it, I will be dealing with teenage girls with all the phone calls, pimples, temperamental behavior during certain times of the month, and, worst of all, the “bad boy” love interests, that it implies. (even more disconcerting is knowing that I was a "good boy" that was able to charm parents into undeservedly trusting me with their daughters. Payback is definitely a female dog!)
My oldest daughter is still more likely to do a cartwheel or break into song than talk about boys, but her body is unquestionably changing. And, soon, the boys will start noticing (if they haven't already).
As if that wasn't concerning enough for me to deal with, my wife tells me "preparate" (brace yourself) because 4th Grade is when the boys ask girls to go with them to the school fair (Say what? Are you kidding me?). Our daughter apparently can't wait (But I can, couldn't we wait at least until 5th Grade? She's nine, for goodness sake!).
And, to think my younger daughter is learning from her older sister and already wants to wear her bikini bathing suit top underneath her shirts...
Lord help me.