Ah, the precarious nature of being 9 and a half.

Or rather, of being the mother of a 9 and a half year old.

Over the weekend, the mother of one of Annabelle’s friends texted me that her daughter needed to speak to mine — and it was important. So we called, got the voicemail. Left a message. They returned ours. We returned theirs. Never connected.

There’s girl drama (when isn’t there?) so I was a little concerned.

Last night when I was tucking Annabelle in, I asked if she and the friend ever did connect.

“Oh yeah,” Annabelle said. “But I’m not supposed to talk about it.”

“Did she get her period?” It just flew out of my mouth before I could stop it. I know it’s early, but it’s not too early; that kind of thing is right around the corner.

“No,” my daughter said in a don’t-be-silly tone. “She thinks she found a sign that a fairy was in her backyard. She wanted to tell me about it, but I’m not supposed to say what it was.”

Or the fairies will go away, right? Well, I’m just glad the Menstruation Fairy hasn’t arrived quite yet. And that I have a kid who still wants to believe in the sparkly variety.

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