Not being allowed to wait with her at the bus.
The door to her room more closed than open.
Mumbled "I love you's," eye rolls, and air expelled from deep in her chest.
Hands that avoid mine in crowded spaces or crossing streets.
A figure that is filling out in ways that scare me.
Tight jeans that "aren't tight, Mom."
My baby is no longer my baby.
How did this happen so fast? People warned me about this but I didn't listen. (Or just didn't want to believe it.) There are only 18 years before they head out and the writing is on the wall. I am proud of how she has blossomed from the shy, scared child placed in my arms to the confident, intelligent woman she is becoming. The girl is still there but she peeks out less and less.
I had been thinking about all these things for the past several days because it has always seemed to me that kids grow up in chunks. I don't seem to notice the little teeny changes that happen each and everyday. Instead, I seem to take notice one day and suddenly that little chubby cheeked cherub has changed and there is no turning back. I remember watching her as she slept when she was little; seeing in the shadows all the different faces she would become in the future. In front of me was a little innocent baby, but I could also see the faces of a teenager, a young adult, and even an old woman. Look closely, I bet you can see it in your little ones too.
Now, the faces I only saw in my imagination are starting to become reality, and I wish for what was. But that is not fair to the one that is riding the wave of time marching on. She is embracing the changes and pushing headlong into the brave new world that is her story. And hopefully I will be able to have a place somewhere, cheering her on.
And today, when the door slams as she comes home from school and asks what there is to eat, we can sit and have some oreo cookies and milk together. I can listen to her day and her heart and maybe even try dunking for a change. The glue of the ordinary will need to help my heart be still and be open to the possibilities she sees for tomorrow.
(The inspiration for this blog post came as I was wallowing on Facebook, spending entirely too much time not working. I stumbled upon this video of Katrina Kenison reading from her book The Gift Of An Ordinary Day.)
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