Jill posted recently about the heartbreak she experienced when she and Mack had “the talk” about Santa. I had a lesser, but still wounding encounter of my own this evening.

Anyone who has spent five seconds with me knows that I am a huge fan of Disney World. While other parents grumbled and rolled their eyes at the Disney Princess phase, I actively encouraged it. At one point, our hall closet was filled, not with coats, but with princess gowns, slippers, tiaras and wands. On any given day, for no reason at all, Cinderella, Sleeping Beauty, Snow White or any of their celluloid sisters would wander through the family room asking for a Nutella sandwich.

Every year since Cat was born we have made the annual pilgrimage to Orlando (“your own Mecca” as my father has called it) to spend quality time with Mickey and friends, always stopping for lunch or dinner at the castle and always the princess dinner in Epcot. We have dozens, probably more than 100 really, pictures of Cat and Tate, dressed as mini versions of the royalty that they hugged, beaming smiles all around over the last seven years. The experiences were, as promised, magical.

Fast forward to this evening when 6 year old Tate was getting ready to take her shower. “Which nightgown do you want,” I asked, “hearts or Ariel (the Little Mermaid)?” I was already handing her the Ariel nightgown out of habit when she said, “Hearts. Definitely.”

“Hearts?” I said. “Okay. Hearts it is.”

And then she landed the fatal blow. “Hearts, Mom. Because I am too old for Ariel.”

Too old for Ariel? Really?

“Mom, princesses and fairy tales and all of that are for babies. I am a big girl now.”

And though she is only six, she shows me every day that she is a big girl now. She gets her own shower, her own breakfast, her own clothes on. She can read. She makes a mean blueberry turnover (with a little help from Dad). When I go to her school, she does not hold my hand but runs ahead shouting, “c’mon Mom. Hurry up already.”

So this is the first step in a longer journey of her outgrowing our shared interest and running ahead. My baby, my youngest, is becoming a big girl now. And I am left to wait for the time when I am pushed to the back of the drawer like the crumpled Ariel nightgown in favor of something more hip, more new, more the person she becomes.

Not only is she a big girl, but she has a big heart. She saw my crestfallen look at her pronouncement that she is past her princess phase. I think she knew that this is going to be a difficult transition for me. She came out of the shower, soaking wet and sat on my lap.

“Don’t worry Mommy,” she said gazing into my eyes and dripping on my legs. “I will still take you to Disney World, and if you want, we can even see the princesses.”

Maybe there is a few more seasons of wear in me and Ariel after all.