11 is still little

My daughter Annie is 11 and is teetering on that pre-teen edge of life. The one where she has 8 toes into "big girl" activities and interests (pop music, fashion and boys) and 2 toes in the "little girl" life (Littlest Pet Shop, Webkinz and American Girl dolls). She's incredibly helpful when it comes to tending to her brothers (9 and 5) and doing chores around the house. She can cook and does laundry. Often, Mike and I forget that in the grand scheme of life, 11 is still little.

Annie had her tonsils and adenoids removed yesterday. She was uncharacteristically brave as the surgery approached. She confessed some nervousness as the time came to head to the hospital. But when she was offered some medicine to help her calm down before the surgery, she declined. When it was time to go, she gave Mike and I each a hug and a kiss, the walked with the nurse down the hallway to the OR, not looking back once. "Our big girl," I thought.

And then the surgery was over and we were reminded that 11 is still indeed little. She was in pain and looked to us to resolve that for her. When she was ready (by today's crazy hospital standards) to come home, she looked so vulnerable in the wheelchair. Probably in part because she was still pretty loopy from the anesthesia and pain meds.

We came home and got her set up on the couch. And over the next 24 hours, I was reminded that she is definitely my little girl. The tears because her throat hurt. The frustration that she just felt rotten and exhausted in general. The request that I sit with her on the couch, so she could lay her head in my lap while we watched a movie together.

I am very free with hugs and cuddles for the 5-year-old and the 9-year-old when I can catch him. It seems as they get older, they like their own personal space a bit more. But today was a good reminder that even though she is about 1/2 inch shy of my own height, Annie is still my little girl. And truthfully, always will be.