“Mommy, I big.”
“Yes, you are. A little bigger every day.”
“I a big girl now. I AM!”
This is a conversation I have with my daughter several times a day. Sometimes, it’s all I can do not to laugh when she says it—especially if I’m changing her diaper or wiping dinner out of her hair.
But other times? Other times it’s so true it makes my heart ache.
She is getting bigger every day.
She can reach the counter and grab things, if they’re close enough to the edge (in other words, it’s time to start putting those gummy vitamins away).
She can dress herself (when she wants to) and even put her shoes on the right feet.
She can skip with a jump rope, pedal her tricycle and even balance in the big girl swing.
She’s going to dance in her first recital. She’s lost her first best friend. She knows what a best friend is.
She’s not my baby anymore. And while she still fits perfectly in my lap, there will come a time when she doesn’t.
Soon, she’ll be, indisputably, a Kid.
I’m not quite sure I’m ready for that.
That’s why, when she stumbles out of bed in the middle of the night and comes looking for a snuggle, I don’t hesitate. I swoop her up, settle her into bed next to me and hold her tight. My arm might go to sleep, my neck might complain, but I don’t care.
While we’re lying forehead to forehead, her arms wrapped firmly around my neck, I know she’s still mine.
I’m going to hold on tight to these little spaces in time while I can.
They’ll be gone soon enough.