She’s a big girl now

“I got my tongue pierced, lol.”

Heretofore, it was just another really crappy day at work. I was in the worst kind of foul mood— the kind you can’t really blame on anyone else. I was overtired, hungry and horribly misunderstood by all of humanity. So when I received this little “ping” on my cell phone, it wasn’t greeted with open arms.

“Shut up. Seriously?” I tapped back.

She was joking. She had to be joking, right? I mean, she’d just graduated from high school the night before, she was just stepping into the realm of adulthood, there was no way she would be so cavalier about stabbing a gash through an essential body part. My mind drifted to the pictures we’d taken of this poised, confident young woman, ready to take on the *ping*

“Lol yeah I did.”

I was driving, waiting at a stoplight with my son when her message came in. No words. I simply couldn’t respond. That was a good thing. A very good thing, as my brain was entirely unable to process the explosive mixture of frustration and confusion and disbelief that I was experiencing. Add to that the already-existing layer of grumpiness that shrouded my person, and I knew this conversation could be deadly. For her.

Seconds later, my phone rings; when I answer, the car is filled with my husband's rollicking laughter over the speakerphone. “Hey, have you spoken to the girls?”

“I just got a text message,” I say, my voice colored with disbelief.

His laughter explodes again. “What the hell is she THINKING?” We laugh, sharing a mutual facepalm moment.

Clearly she wasn’t thinking about chipped teeth, like I was. Or nerve damage. Or infection, halitosis, partial deafness and potential permanent numbness, like I was. Clearly she wasn’t thinking about life the day after today, when she returned to work, or life at the end of summer, when she had to face employers in search of a steady job. Clearly she wasn’t thinking!

Later that evening, after a few texts back and forth, after I explained to her my fears and she reminded me that she could always take it out… I processed the day’s events.

It’s not my tongue.
She’s 18.
She’s capable of making her own rash decisions.

Maybe that’s what scared me the most, that last one there. That, despite whatever control I felt I had—whatever say, thoughts, influence—the fact is, she is still fully capable of making her own decisions and acting on them. And shouldn’t that be a good thing? That she is able to make choices and live with them, with the full responsibility of an adult? Because that's what she was now. An adult. And while I have no issues with other people's pierced tongues, any issues I had with my daughter's piercing should be treated the same way: it's her gig to worry about. Passing judgment doesn't help anybody.

Merthiless teathing, howevuh, duz hep me cope.

...still, I don’t know. I’m working on releasing my attachment to the image of her growing further into adulthood with a non-gouged tongue. And honestly, it's not the end of the world. Perhaps the end of her speaking ability with crisp diction—but who knows. That may even change when the swelling goes down.