Yesterday, daughter walks over to me sitting on the couch, looks around covertly and whispers sideways to my face~
"Mom. I'm growing armpit hair."
"Reeeaaallly? Let's see." I respond discreetly.
Eyebrows furrow as she does another stealth testosterone room sweep, then an abrupt arm lift right next to my nose. I went cross-eyed to focus. Nothing.
"Where is it?" I stare eagerly at the exposed pit.
"Right there," she points and whispers.
"Where? Like how many am I looking for?" I vigorously whisper back, still about an inch away and moving her from side to side to see if it magically appears in certain lighting. I blow in the vicinity and watch for movement. Still naught.
Oooooh, I get it. She has an imaginary friend. Named Armpit Hair. Bless her heart.
But she's insistent. "MOM! See?" She puts her chin to her chest and pulls her mouth down at the edges in concentration. "Right here. Lots of baby hairs all over under here." she snorts and giggles and smiles a huge toothy grin...and by toothy, I mean four toothy, since she's shaken, shoved and yanked until every last one of those tots fell in surrender, like wounded and dying in a battlefield. The ugly stage battlefield. And yes, I remember my own violent "right of passage" skirmish well. It sucker punched me in the fourth grade and kept my neck firmly in it's elbow crook until well into Jr. High, folks. WEEEELLLLLLLLL into Jr. High.
Back to pits~ again, I lift and shift and finally, a soft shaft of light illuminates what might be considered new, baby hair growth.
Baby chick pit hair.
Who knew that in the midst of ugly stages, there can be an Easter Bunny reminder that good may still come. That sunshine and flowers and new teeth will take root...along with those fuzzy little follicles.
And that's what this is, kids~Spring, in baby chick pit hair form.
I'll take it.