My stomach hurts. That usually happens when I'm nervous.

Maya's been at her BD's house for weeks and this is the last leg of her stay. This is when I get antsy. I miss her a lot. Also, it sounds like she's on the eve of some hormonal changes; general attitude coping, being an ingrate, etc. Normal stuff . . . I guess. This Teen Onslaught stuff scares me shitless. And she’s only eleven. I know it'll be fine, but I'm nervous. And if changes are happening to her, I'm sick of being away from her to talk it out face to face, to hold her. I miss her. She also doesn't want to do Tae Kwon Do anymore, which makes my stomach hurt; makes me sad. As a mami, I have to respect her feelings and seriously consider pulling her from the sport. But I also know that disappointment comes from everywhere and sometimes we have to stick it out and work through that.

Over the weekend, I had a nightmare that I've had six or seven times before. In the dream I beat Maya. I don't ever talk about this reoccuring dream because I hate it that much. In it, I get frustrated uncontrollably and then I pound and slap her instead. Like my mother used to do. And then in the dream, I can't stop hitting her. Like my mother. I wake up sick to my stomach so thankful to be awake, and nervous that I'd ever get that frustrated.

My stomach hurts.

I registered Mina for school last week. And there is no more room left in the afterschool care program for second graders. I thought, I'm seriously fucked. "What is a working parent supposed to do when her seven-year old gets out at 2:45 in the afternoon?" I asked. "We can put your daughter on the wait list," they said. I said, "What are her chances?" They said, "She's eleventh on the list." Basically, I'm fucked. I've been wracking my brain since. I have a very good job, but shit like this turns me into a lunatic mama bear; makes me want to tell my bosses that This Is The Way It Is and I'm leaving early every single day to get my baby. But then practicality sets in and I can't mess with my set up right now. I just can't. I'll figure it out. But my stomach hurts. I thought of all the mothers with way fewer options than I, single and broke and taking chances with day care because of no other choice. My stomach hurts for them too.

Yesterday I stood in the New Enrollment line at the junior high that I attended 27 years ago. Maya will attend this same school starting next week. I let a flood of middle-school memories, good and nerve-wracking, crash over me as I waited. Then I spotted some alpha girls roaming the halls in a pack, no more than thirteen wearing daisy dukes and hard-core sassiness. And my stomach hurt. I was intimidated by these girls back when I was a kid and I felt the same yesterday as I tried to absorb some of these feelings that are upcoming for Maya. Middle school is the beginning of female mental warfare and I contemplated home schooling as I inched along the New Enrollment line. Nervous and shrinking in the presence of preteens, I called Maya on the phone. I told her school would be great. And tough. I said, "Man, you just gotta be yourself, ok?" And she said "OK, Mami!" so cheerfully that my heart hurt. Made me close my eyes and wish her home. After registration was done, I went to the bathroom and in the stall I noticed a little pair of pink underwear wadded up and stuffed behind the toilet seat along with a paper-wrapped pad. I looked down and saw no trash can in the stall. And I thought that was cruel. A twelve year old doesn't know that every girl’s stall should have a trash can. She just feels humiliated by having to stuff her still-child's underwear somewhere.

It's all going to be ok, I know. Doesn't mean things won't stress me or things aren't tough. God knows growing up and The Parenting Juggle ain't easy.