Pits.

The following is an excerpt of the conversation I had recently with my daughter. (shhh! don't tell her! This is top secret information, the kind that she traps me in my room and closes the door behind her to have a "talk" type of conversation.)

Kennedy: Mom, can you check if I need deodorant yet?
Me: Um, (insert a slightly puzzled sideways glance here) I don‘t think you do babe.
Kennedy: Well, can you check?
Me: I‘m pretty sure I would have noticed in passing if you had B.O., kay?
Kennedy: Please mom. Please just check (as she sort of lifts one arm into the air so as to grant easy access to her pits).
Me: (Considering carefully just which child it is I‘m dealing with and coming to the realization that there is but one way to end the discussion) Sniff. Sniff. Nope, you‘re not stanky. Lucky you. Luckier me.
Kennedy: Awww. When am I going to need deodorant?
Me: I don‘t know. Why do you want deodorant?
Kennedy: All my friends wear it.
Me: How do you know that?
Kennedy: They told me. And it‘s embarrassing that I don‘t wear it.
Me: Well, just don’t tell them then. They‘ll never know.
Kennedy: Duh. I‘m not going to tell them. It‘s still embarrassing though.

Um, okay. I don‘t fully understand the reasoning here and I doubt I ever will. Call me crazy, but when did stanky pits become a commodity for tween girls? I mean seriously, she‘s ten people. Ten

I wonder if I should have told her that she has hair on her legs and although she doesn't need deodorant, she should start shaving! hmmm. Ok, on second guess - I'll go back to letting her be Ten.