Reality Check for a Tweenager

My dear daughter, the one who always, absolutely always, has to take pictures of herself every day, is officially in the age range where you can no longer tell she is twelve.

I blame it on the Davis genes.  If you have ever been to the Davis family reunion, you would understand just how small and insignificant you are and how tall and significant the Davis' clan is.  If you are a petite, you could not be a Davis or have that gene.

Petite feet are nonexistent in this house, thanks to the Davis gene.  This girl on the left needs a 10 now.  Not to mention the Little One not pictured, who now can wear a ladies size 6.  GAAK!

All three gals in this house are in serious need of wardrobe rehab, which I can blame on the Davis Gene.  When will the growth spurts end?  Darby is larger than most adults in my small group, which is quite literally a small group when you think about it.  As far as my wardrobe rehab goes, I have issues due to the absence of Dr. Pepper and the introduction of cardovascular exercise.  I can't keep my britches on anymore and it is starting to make me a little bit nutty.  But the Davis gene will keep me looking like a fabulous plus size model, being that plus size is anything over a size 6 (and I am way over that notch but still happy with my shrinkage:)

So, as far as the reality check goes, Scott got to deal with that one tonight when a comment was made by a trainer at the local YMCA.  Darby was getting set up to work out on the machine when he asked her age, and then was surprised that she was only 12.  I would have been horrified by a comment that aged me, but this girl was slightly impressed with her ability to confuse a member of the opposite sex.

She is just a baby!  A tween age baby!  If any of those big, hairy boys at the Y try to hit on her, Scott will lock her up on the third floor of our house and park himself outside on our front steps with his new gun and a box of shells, contemplating exactly who he will shoot first and whether or not he wants to seriously maim anybody.  And I will cower inside, knowing that she is beautiful and may be getting noticed by big, hairy boys that want her phone number.  Yikes.