When I first realized I had become a grown-up...

Last August I began working on a piece to submit for a writing competition. It didn't get past the initial brainstorming, but reading it now a year later took me back. Still not sure exactly where I would go with this, but here it is. The question for the competition was: When did you first realize you had become a grown-up?"

An inch separated my inquisitive face from the mirror hanging on the back of my bedroom door. I picked and poked at the attention-greedy pimples covering my cheeks, resorting to my make-up in attempt at coverage like a sheer fabric to a couch stain. Moments pass as I step back in disappointment that space doesn't make me any more pleased. I scrunch my hair wondering when "they" will make a product perfect for my curly frizz. My eyes then wander down the full length mirror to reveal my youthful work outfit.

It's really no wonder people mistake me for a high school student, I criticize.

One would think I was an insecure teen at this daily in-front-of-the-mirror ritual. A few years into my twenties I was a new college graduate and a working mom figuring out my place.

I looked down at my one-year-old daughter who intently peered into the bottom portion of my mirror. She held a kabuki brush in her hand attempting the blotching motions I had previously done. She looked up giving me a half-toothed grin, apparently proud of her new ability to copy mom. My emotions mixed--pride and disbelief collided as I processed what I was seeing. My reflection showed a young lady coming into her own, as my heart told me I should be in my own because I now have another lady to help grow into her own.