This past weekend I caught myself looking at my daughter’s photograph that is displayed in our living room. In that picture, she is only two weeks old. As I stared at it, my daughter whizzed around the periphery of my space with her roller skates.
“Look at me, Momma. Look.” I turned my head and did a double-take. She is still a little girl in many ways. Without any prompting, she showers me with kisses and hugs in the middle of the day. Nightmares still pop-up occasionally and she will bury her head on my shoulder as I pat her back. Last week, when she fell off her bike, she cried for a few minutes. She still needed encouragement to climb on the seat to maneuver her handle-bars around the sidewalk again.
I understand she still needs me, but I also know that she is blooming and becoming her own person.
In a flash, her height inches toward mine. She often jokes that she will tower over me in a few years. I know that is true, but that means I will no longer be able to carry her. Even now, I struggle to lift her off the ground and she says, “Momma, you cannot carry me anymore.” I insist and say, “No, I still can.” But she is right, the moment I hold her limbs, she is slipping down fast. The metaphor of that image does not escape me. A large part of me wants to keep holding on. There is a brief flicker of sadness as I realize that the passage of time keeps sending reminders that we are continually moving forward, despite our protests.
I sometimes tell her, “Don’t grow up too fast.” She laughs and responds, “I can’t be a baby forever, Momma.” We are years removed from those days. Diapers, bottles, and breastfeeding seem like a foreign language to me. I am immersed in a different world, where we have conversations about whether aliens are a myth and how peace is attained by gazing at nature. She’s no longer interested in doll houses, but her mind is captivated by rocks and minerals. Venturing into our yard she picks up random rocks and asks to split them open with a hammer. Yesterday she announced that obsidian is her favorite rock. Sometimes when I am not at my best she says, “Momma, just chill. It will be ok.” On a recent plane trip, when some turbulence rocked our plane, she consoled my fright by placing her hands on my back and telling me, “It will be ok, Momma. I promise.” Her sensitivity often brings her to tears, but it also creates her lean toward nurturing and kindness.
We talk about gratitude and how important it is to honor the people who you love in your life. I know she’s recently picked up a love of cursive handwriting and she often says she can never go back to print again because it is so “babyish.” I laugh as she hands me this little note.
In it I see my baby, but also my growing girl.
Welcome! I am a lawyer turned freelance writer, essayist, and editor. On staff at Literary Mama and the co-founder and co-editor of the literary journal, The Sunlight Press, my essays and reported work have appeared in The Washington Post, The Lily, Saveur, Civil Eats, Brain, Child, ESPN and elsewhere. I am currently at work on a memoir on grief and culture and how it provides perspective on life’s ordinary graces. I invite you to appreciate the ordinary with me. I hope my daily practice of seeing the magic in the mundane helps you celebrate and find more of these moments in your life too.
So sweet!
Thanks, Susan.
Sweet 🙂 a beautiful reflection. One day she will read it and smile. Our children are our teachers. I love this.
Ayala: She actually read it yesterday and then wrote me a card because she was so excited about it. She mentioned that she will always love me as long as I never embarrass her when she gets older. (Lol!)
Our daughter has really taught us so much about love, living, and embracing the present.
That’s so precious, it’s worth framing 🙂 I’m sure her feelings towards you will always remain that way: innocent and pure even when she enters those rebellious years; which hopefully aren’t as bad as mine were. 🙂 Enjoy your beautiful daughter Rudri! -Iva
Iva,
I use that little note as my bookmark. Let’s hope for the best during her rebellious years. It is too early to tell whether she will still have the same affinity for me during that time. Perhaps I can use this post as a reminder…
Your daughter is such a sweet and smart girl. ❤❤❤
Thanks, Sherry. Appreciate the love! xoxo
That note… keep that forever. (Especially for during her teen years.) It’s so fun to hear about what the future with older kids holds… especially on crazy housebound snow days with two little ones. Thanks for sharing this sweet moment in time!
Sarah,
You will have so much to look forward to as your children grow older. I love my daughter’s age right now because she is expressing so many bits of personality. Just when I think I’ve got her figured out, she surprises me. Thanks for your words of support.
Oh my goodness, she’s so sweet. And I really noticed from your post how she takes care of you.
I really know how you’re feeling. I was just talking to my husband about it today, as our son will turn 10 in a matter of weeks. Ten years feels so long only in words. I can’t even begin to grasp it all and I definitely don’t have the words for what I feel about the time passing.
Oh, Cecilia, I imagine double-digits will be hard. I understand your feeling of not knowing how it all happened so fast. I am still marveling at how eight years seem to just whirl by in an instant. Sending hugs, my friend. xoxo
That is the sweetest note! I feel the same way about my youngest…trying to hold on tight.
Holding on tight. Oh, how I can relate.
So sweet – your post and her note. They grow up far too fast. I already feel like I’ve blinked and gone from the hospital to my now 4.5yo son. Time seemed to move slow until parenthood. Now it moves a lightning speed.