Yesterday, The Girl asked me to verify the exact time she was born. I pulled out the notes that the midwives kept during the birth and they said this: "7:16 am - girl, eyes wide open" This line kept coming back to me all day....girl, eyes wide open. There couldn't be a more perfect description for Fiona, and eleven is proving to be the perfect manifestation of that. It's all stripes and polka dots around here. All bold and bright...skinned knees and tutus. Somewhere between her newly acquired wither-inducing glower and her laughing until she can't breathe lies the reality of my eleven year old girl. The volume of life is turned up loud. Whatever we experience with her is amplified...even the quiet moments or the tears. Eleven is tweeeeeeen. Hormones Emotions are big, y'all. She's tender hearted and anxious. She's spunky and creative, hilarious and so incredibly kind. She indulges her father's adorably dorky jokes, and endures my endless picture taking. She's courageous and strong, even as she bites her nails too short as she speaks her piece. She laughs loudly, and with her whole body. She's a hugger, a tickler, a cuddler. She's officially too big to carry up to her bed when she falls asleep downstairs. She's eleven.... Holy crap....she's eleven.....