My Daughter’s Night as a Cheerleader

My Daughter’s Night as a Cheerleader

My 7-year old wants everything Big Girls have. Even boobs. She is just that kinda kid. Heels, jewelry, lip gloss are all things she covets.
(Boobs, you may ask? Well, several times she has stuffed tissue into her ballet leotard and pranced in front of her mirror, checking out her “curves.” Try to understand this – she weighs 36 pounds, if we weigh her right after a big meal.)

Now my 11-year old just wants to be 11. She wants to play Lego, read books, climb trees, ride bikes and play with the dogs. And if she could do these things in grungy old clothes – so much the better. But I digress.

So Glowie gets a chance to go to a Cheerleading Camp with the high school girls. (If you could just tremble slightly when you read the words “High School Girls,” all the better.)

Then she got to Cheer at the High School Basketball Game during Half Time.
I was a wreck.

For one thing, I weep when a new jar of peanut butter is opened. My children are constantly bringing me tissue and saying: “Aw, Mama.”

So the weeping started before the pretty Senior came out and sang "The Star-Spangled Banner." What pipes that girl had. A little National Anthem, a little Pledge of Allegiance and I’m a blubbering wreck.

And just sitting in the stands looking down at Glowie vibrating on the bleacher, wedged between those beautiful big girls, I was a one woman snot-fest.

All I can think about is: if this is what she wants and loves, how do I help her build the skills to have a chance to do this in high school, which is only 7 years away.

So while the boys are playing basketball and while the cheerleaders are stomping and cheering; while my Glowie is lit up from inside; me? Well, I’m making a plan:

• Sign up for gymnastics lessons.
• Don’t quit Ballet.
• Find out at what age kids can wear contacts.
• Don’t delay calling the orthodontist. (Glowie’s mouth is going to be some kind of $10,000 mess, not including jaw surgery – egad!)
• Put some protein powder in her morning instant breakfast.
• Start investment fund for giant hair bows.
• Type up Plan of Action.

And suddenly the buzzer rings. It is not the buzzer on the floor of the gym. It is the buzzer in my mind that suggests I may want to move out of the way.

Cuz any minute my Helicopter Mom whirly-bird is going to land.

Wait-- I can feel the breeze. And I think I hear the gentle whoosh, whoosh, whoosh sound of the blades.

Cuz God forbid, my daughter should just get to be a 2nd grade kid getting an exciting night with the Big Girls. Nah.

Bring it on General Petraeus! Any battle plan you’ve put into action won’t hold a candle to mine!

Gooooooooooooooo Glowie!!!