She stretches, her long limbs tangle in the soft blankets as she pulls herself from another peaceful journey to Nod. A new day is dawning, one filled with curiosity and good intention.
Silently she searches for her favorite friend – a tattered bear who has not left her side since they were first introduced. His worn brown fur smells exactly like her and his stitched-button nose is nearly threadbare from her endless kisses. He is her everything.
At seven years old she is my definition of beauty and grace. I lose myself in her tiny details – a lone freckle at the base of her nose, sparkly-painted fingernails, skin that is as soft as it was the day she was born. She is my everything.
Filled with a quiet exuberance, she lives to observe the fluttering of butterflies and the steps of a dancer, making me long for that same innocence. Her excited chatter is broken by youthful laughter, her smile revealing a mixture of both baby and adult teeth. My little girl is growing up.
We curl around each other, mother and daughter, reciting the same verse we have since she was newborn, expressing a love for each other that will never end. I want to slow time down, make each second last longer than it does. As day passes to night, she seems to grow a little more while needing me a little less. I string together memories and photographs, watching her metamorphosis from infant to toddler to child to… the development of her being so obvious and natural in hindsight.
As a child, I believed that growing up was the greatest challenge I would face. As a parent, I now realize that letting go is far more difficult.
