>A Few More Reasons to Move to Amish Country

Yesterday was a momentous one for my 14-year-old stepdaughter, right up there with going to prom or getting her period for the first time. In an ancient rite of passage for adolescents the, uh, nation over, my stepdaughter got her braces removed.

She bounced into the car after her appointment, teeth gleaming, looking every inch the gorgeous girl that I’ve feared her becoming for so long. I stifled a wish for her seventh grade self, the one who once had sported both braces and glasses, and tried not to imagine the herds of boys that no doubt would soon be jostling for position at our front door, clamoring for a date with this braceless, contact-wearing, raving beauty seated beside me.

“You look really pretty,” I said, smiling. “And older. Much older.” It was all true, but more importantly, it was what I remembered wanting to hear when I got my braces off back in ninth grade. She grinned, pleased. As I drove home, we chatted about school and her retainer, which, OMG, she was, like, soooo glad she’d only have to wear it at night and not at school because, OMG, that would be soooo embarrassing. Once we got home, I dropped her and three-year-old Punky off and took baby Bruiser with me to the supermarket.

When I returned home half an hour later, Punky and 14 were outside, tossing a ball. “I’m actually mad at Punky right now,” 14 announced, coming back into the kitchen.

“Why?”

“When we got home, I said, ‘Punky! Don’t you notice anything different about me?’ And she said, ‘You don’t have any bracelets on your teeth!’ And I said, ‘That’s right! What do you think?’ And she said, ‘I don’t like it. You’re not pretty without the bracelets.’”

“Oh no,” I said.

“Oh yeah,” 14 continued. “So I said, ‘Well, you don’t have bracelets on your teeth, either!’ And she said, ‘Yeah, but I have prettier dresses than you!’”

“Oh no.”

“And then I told her to apologize. But she wouldn’t.”

I sighed.

“But finally, finally, she did. It took a long time, though.”

“She’s been kind of a jerk this week,” I admitted. It was true. She’ll be four in two weeks and already, she’s begun testing her boundaries, almost like she’s a teenager or something. It is often said that little girls are growing up all too fast these days, but come on. At three, she has learned to use the computer, go down the slide by herself, and attend solo playdates without me hovering somewhere behind her; is four now going to find her sneaking beer from the fridge and saying, “Hell damn!” every time I tell her she needs to eat at least half of her peanut butter sandwich?

Let’s review. I learned today that four is the new 14, and my 14-year-old now looks like she’s 20. And that, my friends, is not good.

This post originally appeared on Parents.com.