The Host

Do you remember daughter number one? The hypochondriac one; the one I had to bring to the doctor, for a fee of 50 euros per visit, so she could hear a professional telling her the same exact things I told her at home? Yes, her: the iper-anxious one who fell victim of terrible belly cramps every time something new was around the corner!
The one we always joked she would never be a problem as a teenager because she was moody since the age of three. Well, she is not among us anymore. No, don’t think the worst, nothing bad happened, she simply fell victim of alien abduction, or to be precise of a body snatcher.

I started to suspect something was not right at the end of the school year when the idea of leaving primary school to start secondary still didn’t raise any anxiety in her. But in fairness, things had degenerated so badly in her former class, that anything could be better than that. The fact the poor child was excited at the idea to leave and not to see the old crew that made her life miserable, was totally understandable.
The excitement of going to a new school and meeting new people and be able to make her friends based on genuine common interests had obviously overcame the possible nervousness. May be there was nothing to worry about after all and, it was still daughter number one we were talking about: we only had to be patient and wait for the last minute tantrum.

The Summer passed and still not a drop in her mood; on the contrary, she even became chatty.
Now, if you think that it is normal for a nearly thirteen years old girl, you also have to bear in mind that up to a few months prior, she used to drive with her father for two or three hours to go shooting without any of them to speak a word. Telepathic communication….their specialty, just a pity nobody else is ever synchronized in their frequence.
Anyway, back to the facts, holidays were over, we were back, and it was time to go through all the books; label them and put them in a different folders of different colours so to make it easier and quicker to grab the subjects she needed from the locker.
The number of books, the variety of subjects, the fact that she had a limited time in between classes to reach her locker and go back to different rooms for different classes, should have freaked her out if she was her real self. It didn’t! Now, my only hope was on the afternoon before the first day of school. That afternoon we were supposed to go to the school in full uniform( skirt included and she was not wearing a skirt since she was two),get the locker’s number, the padlock to bring home and practice to open it and close it and the student journal. Are you wondering what the school student journal is? It is enormous “thing” full of rules, advice, graphics and only God knows what else but whatever it is, it must be of extreme importance because students must carry it with them everywhere they go.
It turned out that while I was totally overwhelmed by the whole process , my daughter or whatever she was now , was still cool about it. Day one in school came, she left with a big smile and came home with the same big smile, plus a list of new possible friends. There was no more doubt about it: something possessed her.Three weeks into the new school and new routine and she is still happy out. She names someone new she talked to every day, and she even asked to go by train already unless it is slashing of course. Some extraterrestrial creature might inhabit her, but sure it is a clever one and doesn’t want to get to school soaked!

I must say I enjoy this new person shaffling around my house lighthearted and chatty, but I cannot think of when the body snatcher will get bored with her and passed on another host. Will I then have my still beloved cranky pants back?
In a total inconsiderate and emotionally weak moment, I share my concerns with the travelling husband.
Wrong move: he is a numbers man, cold, rational and practical: “honey, body snatchers don’t exist. She can be a case when a girl hitting her teens gets nicer rather than meaner, but I don’t believe that either. Wait and see”.
Damn it. He was right, again. Miss cranky pants was back last Friday when I tried to drag her to the hairdresser.
“I am not coming in there. You do it,at home”.
-Pew, maybe she is not fully possessed-, I happily thought and most of all she is still happy with her mama cutting her hair!😍#veryproud mamaofaverysoecialgirl!

P.S
For some reason both my girls believe that because I have an aunt and two cousins who are hairdresser that gives me the skill to cut hair too……..as they say : whatever it works! Except not always it works, but this will go on another post.