Fashion Police

Sophie turned eleven today and apparently that means she’s now qualified to be my personal stylist. I walked downstairs this morning in what I thought was a perfectly reasonable outfit – navy tank, burgundy shorts, ready to tackle Tuesday – when my newly-minted preteen took one look at me and said, ‘Mom, your outfit doesn’t match.’

Fashion Police

She’s eleven. And she’s absolutely right. It didn’t match. Not even a little bit. I stood there holding my coffee, looking down at myself like I’d never seen clothes before, while Sophie just waited with her arms crossed for me to acknowledge her superior fashion sense. The confidence on this kid – I don’t know where she gets it from. (That’s a lie. I know exactly where she gets it from.)

The moment of reckoning

So I changed. Because when an eleven-year-old calls you out on your color coordination at 7 AM, you listen. She nodded approvingly at my second outfit choice and said, ‘Much better, Mom.’ Then she asked if we could have pancakes for her birthday breakfast. Still my baby, just a baby with opinions about everything now. Happy birthday to my mini-me who’s apparently already surpassed the original.