There’s a shocking moment when your sweet little angel of a daughter reaches about 11 or 12 when you realize what’s ahead. For me, that moment came one day last summer when I asked my daughter — in front of her posse of friends — to gather up everyone’s dirty dishes and return them to the kitchen. Instead of replying, “Sure Mom, I should have done it earlier,” she rolled her eyes in exasperation without realizing I could see her.

I couldn’t be more excited for her as she blossoms into a lovely young woman. I also couldn’t be more nervous over what heartbreaks might await her. But in addition to excitement and nervousness, there’s a hint of another emotion buried deep inside my chest — envy.

For fun, I compiled this list of seven reasons why I’m jealous — just sometimes — of my daughter.

1. I’m jealous of the way she can go ice skating, with awkward limbs flailing about — her inexperienced body falling every which way — and still look cute as a button. If I did the same, my ankles would collapse every 20 seconds and I’d look as though I tippled one too many glasses of red wine, as silly as a naked man in socks.

2. I’m jealous at how tech-savvy she is. Somewhere along the way, she morphed into a technological wizard, a master of Tumblr, Twitter, Facebook and Pinterest, who video chats as comfortably as I used to talk on my corded Princess phone.

3. I’m jealous of her ability to have unabashed fun. She derives great pleasure from painting her nails, playing with the dog and decorating cupcakes. I have a lovely life. But instead of expressing wonder at it, I’m too often focused on what I don’t have or on what I need to get done next week.

4. I’m jealous she can get away with wearing very funky outfits. She actually wore purple galaxy tights — covered in a print from a photo taken by NASA of an actual galaxy — to school. And no one batted an eye.

5. I’m jealous of the way my husband’s eyes light up when he sees her. Don’t get me wrong — it’s wonderful to see my husband so crazy about his little girl. I wouldn’t want it any other way. But there’s definitely an ongoing adjustment at play here. Every time my husband says “How’s my girl?” when he walks in the door from work — yes, referring to our daughter — I can’t help but think back to a time when he would have been talking about me.

6. I’m jealous that my daughter has no laugh lines or blackheads, that her thighs don’t touch when she walks. I’m jealous she can devour a whole can of whipped cream and not suffer the consequences. I’m jealous that she has decades of double-takes from admiring young men ahead of her.

7. I’m jealous of all the wide open doors she has yet to walk through — first kiss! study abroad! — and contemplate a story that is still waiting to be written while the book of my life is more than halfway finished.

Despite the above, I’m not going to wallow in the realization of all I’ve left behind. This is only a momentary lapse. My daughter is gorgeous and confident. She lights up my life. But the next time she does something like ask my husband to paint her room — and he does so the following weekend even though I’ve been asking him to help me paint the front porch for months — I’m going to roll my eyes. A lot.