Tonight will be the last night I tuck you in as a nine-year-old. Ten will greet us in the morning.
Ten. I keep repeating this number over and over. Each time, tears brim in the corner of my eyes. I remember your first bath in our home, a small apartment in Texas. I held the curve of your back, angling your body, holding your head in the right spot, while the water splashed and mixed with your two-week tears. In those early days, I wondered about your growth and my becoming. My palette of paint trickled into one another, one color indistinguishable from the other, night and day blurring together like some psychedelic kaleidoscope.
I reach for the lens gazing backward and forward, still trying to massage the reality that you are ten years older and I am firmly in midlife. Even though ten officially hits tomorrow, the preview started last year. In 2015, you announced, “Double-digits, Momma. Ten. I cannot wait.” You’re in a hurry, while my urge is to pause time, when Momma is still your preferred hero. But I see the pieces of you, swinging back to your tender childhood years and edging toward adulthood in one continuous pendulum. You, my dear, are trying to figure it all out.
Sometimes you rush to hug me when no one is looking, but other times, you usher me out of the door, afraid your friends might witness how much you love your Momma. When I try to kiss your cheek, in the middle of the grocery store or in front of friends, you say, “Not here, Momma. It’s embarrassing.”
Other times, you will ask to sleep in our room, laying out a makeshift mattress on the floor of our space. I sometimes hear your breathing at night. Slow and soft, comforted that you still want to sleep in the same room as your mother and father. Oh, but it’s a different story, when your friends are over. You command the room, boasting like a lion, ushering us out of your throne, like your too old to have any supervision from your parents.
But again, we shift back. You still say Marco, while we reply Polo, those nights when you need to find something in another room and haven’t quite reached the light switch. But, when your father tells you something, you immediately yell back, “I know, Daddy. I know how to do it.” I suspect this is a surge of independence and free will and the mismatched symphony that will occur in the teen years, but I move too fast. Ten is still ours.
While I am writing this to you, I hear the refrain from one of my favorite songs, Landslide. I hear the words, “But time makes you bolder, Even children get older, And I’m getting older too. . .” It is a landslide, all of it. An entire decade in a blink. I still ask, “How did this happen so fast?” One of life’s biggest clichéd questions urging us to look at its truth.
You are starting to see your truth and paving your way. Marching toward the end of the Harry Potter series. Making a calendar of your school deadlines. Announcing your resolutions like, “I need to be better with my emotions.” Baking homemade biscuits from your favorite chef, Pioneer Woman. Offering words of encouragement when I am feeling down and asking your father about the work he does. All these pieces outline the adult you.
But I am still lingering with the child you. The little girl who believes in Santa and magic. The little girl who laughs every time she farts. The little girl who loves notes from her Momma in her lunch. The little girl who never shies away from a wrestling match with her father. The little girl who giggles while watching My Little Pony and combs the hair of her American Girl doll. This is the little girl who is the one I want to keep close, adore a little while longer, before the space is filled with emotions I cannot fix and questions I cannot answer.
I’m busy taking cues, understanding letting go is a continual, painful process. I will never be ready. Not at ten or twenty or ever. Of course, I understand this hollowing is life. It allows you to have room for other experiences to fill you up. I understand that some of those future moments won’t include me or your father, but of other directions and people.
But know this, our dearest, only little girl, you have all of us. You always have and always will. We will be standing behind you as you forge ahead. The world is your ultimate trapeze, your parents, your forever safety net.
We love you. Happy Birthday.
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.
Happy Birthday ? I hope her day is wonderful ! What a beautiful post Rudri. Congratulations mama! Xoxo
Thanks for the birthday wishes, Ayala. She had a great time celebrating with friends and family this past weekend. xo
So beautiful- both the writing and the subject. Thanks for the tears in my coffee. 🙂
Want to hear a confession? I wept while writing the post. So difficult to believe she’s already 10. xo
So tender and touching. So poignant. Happy Birthday to your little girl!
Thanks, Kathie. She enjoyed every minute of her birthday weekend. xo
Happy birthday to your sweet girl. I love your statement that she has All of You. How true. Bittersweet that time goes so fast. I am in the sleep deprived days of parenting two infants. As exhausted as I would like to preserve the days when I can smell their freshly powdered faces and cream lathered hands and cuddle with me while watching Dora.
Hold on to those cuddly little babies, Amy. I remember those days and never fathomed I’d jump to 10 in a blink.
Thanks for the birthday wishes.
Dear Rudri,
What a beautiful, heartfelt, and tear-jerking post. Happy, happy birthday to your little angel. I am a momma of three – two five year-old twin girls and a 10 month old little boy. I came upon your blog purely by accident, but I am so delighted that I did.
All of your experiences totally resonate with me. It is an absolute joy reading your stories and musings so beautifully written with so much courage, compassion, and love.
I am a 36 year-old mother, wife, daughter, daughter-in-law, sister, and friend. At the beginning of this new year, I am struggling to find contentment and purpose in my life with each passing day. So many days where my moments with my precious ones are limited to just minutes, minutes!, as I go to and from my oh so glamorous career in big, bad New York City.
I want to thank you for giving me the opportunity to take part in your experiences and be enlightened and inspired by them. I look forward to the year ahead.
If you ever find yourself in NYC again, give me a ring! 🙂
Warm regards,
Tejal
Tejal,
Welcome to my space! Thank you for your wonderful words.
You are in the throngs of those early days of motherhood and I understand it can be hard finding your footing trying to manage all of your roles. Contentment is elusive, but I do hope you will keep pushing forward to find the people and interests that offer you the most joy.
I am so grateful you stopped by and hope we have many more conversations about finding contentment. Happy New Year!
Happy Birthday, ten year old!! This is a beautiful tribute from a wonderful mom. xoxo
Thanks, Ker! xo
Love the closing line most of all. Resonates so close to my heart as my daughter speeds along to her big 10 this spring.
Cherish those moments before 10 arrives – spring will be here before you know it.
Happy 10. To both of you! Double digits made me very sentimental and emotional (shocker, I KNOW!). Yes, it’s a landslide, all of it. xoxox
Thanks for the birthday wishes. And yes, I know you understand every emotion of this complicated milestone. xo
Oh, yes. 10 is emotional – I was frankly shocked by how impacted I was. And yes, it’s a landslide. All of it. Happy double digits to you both! xox
Happy birthday to your little love.
Thanks for the birthday wishes!
So sad/happy/amazing/beautiful/tragic. Pretty much like parenting.
I feel like she just turned nine! I remember that post too.
Ten seems like a big deal, but I also find comfort in knowing that one day it will feel so young and I will miss it so.
I know – I feel like I just wrote the post for nine too. I love your perspective, Tamara. Yes, ten is still young and I thank you for the reminder. xo
What a milestone! Happy birthday to your beautiful girl. xo.
Thanks, Jessica! Appreciate the birthday wishes. xo
Oh Rudri, this makes me cry. My oldest is turning six in a handful of days and all these things you write about… holding on to those sweet precious moments. Yes, yes to all of it. Happy birthday to your sweet girl, but also… happy BIRTHday to you. I can’t speak to the father-side of parenting, but each birthday for my boys is a whole new “birthing” day for myself, as well, learning to stretch with them.
Oh yes, I love the metaphor of stretching with our children. Every birthday is certainly a milestone for the mother.
Happy Birthday to your beautiful girl. This is a beautiful Rudri. I remember turning 10 and what a big deal double digits were. And to see if from the other side brings so much perspective.
Thanks, Christine. Yes, ten is certainly simmering in ways I didn’t expect.