My daughter was sitting on her heels, on her changing table of all places. And from behind, I caught a glimpse of her beauty. The curve of her spine, her flawless skin. For a second — you know, before she peed on the changing mat — I saw a woman in a Renoir painting.

What I didn’t do was slap her photograph in Vanity Fair. Duh. Art? Beauty? Whatever. She’s a baby. And while her mother can be captivated by, and emotional about, her daughter, she’s sure as hell not for general consumption.

That’s right, boys, call again in 20 years.

So, Tish Cyrus, I ask you: what were you thinking, standing by at the Vanity Fair shoot as your daughter posed like the grown woman she’s yet to become? How did you look in your baby’s eyes, and say, “You’re a beautiful and talented girl, Miley. We could portray your beauty in so many ways. But we’ve chosen to sexualize you, to capitalize on your fame, your moment as Lolita. Don’t worry, honey; it’s unavoidable, especially when there’s a buck to be made.”

I typically try to remain neutral, to avoid paying attention or even caring about Hollywood goings on. But now, as the mother of a son and especially a daughter, I see these controversies through new eyes. Have you seen the clothes for little girls? The dolls? Come on, could we be in any more of a hurry for them to grow up, wear minis, heels and eyeliner? This isn’t news, I know; but it’s new to me. I had a boy first. ;)

I’m bracing myself for the day my kids’ role models expand past Bob the Builder and Danny on Build it Bigger. When they listen to bad pop music and look up to actors on the Disney Channel. Suddenly the Cyrus family’s choices have potential bearing on my life.

Now I care. It’s shallow and selfish, but I care. Sadly, I think there’s plenty of room for one more mom in the fight to protect childhood.