Nine. It’s the new sixteen.

My morning started innocently enough. They always do, right?

Until I called Caroline in to my dressing room so I could help with her hair.

Like I do every morning.

And then I learned a few things that illustrate the disconnect between moms and daughters who, I swear to God, must start hitting the moody part of puberty around five. Despite years of organic milk.

For example...

If you offer to put your daughter’s hair in a ponytail, then you are insinuating her hair is messy.

If you offer to cut the bagel she’s trying to saw through like a prisoner attacking handcuffs with a nail file, then you are treating her like a baby.

If you help her clean her room and you throw away frayed and broken headbands, then you aren’t respecting her things.

If you put the wrong flavored Go-Gurt in her lunchbox, then you don’t care about her.

If you ask her if she wants a playdate with a boy who is a good friend of hers, then you’re telling her who her friends should be.

If you ask her if she’d like you to feed her guinea pig, then you don’t trust her.

If you ask her about an upcoming test, then you think she doesn’t study.

If you try to hold her hand walking to school, then you’re just pretending that you love her.

But...if you try to hold the hand of her little brother, then you love him more.

If you’re still annoyed with her six hours later, THEN YOU’RE HUMAN, despite being a mom.

If she comes home from school and she’s still in the same mood, then you will want a big glass of wine as soon as she goes to bed.

And, if you remember what you were like at nine, then you’ll sneak into her room before she falls asleep, cuddle with her, and tell her how much you love her.