Saluting the softies with tissues as we reflect on our growing children.
I am a real sucker when it comes to my daughter. All she needs do is look at me with those big brown eyes and I am melting. Then she opens her mouth and I remember she is a pre-teen on the verge of full hormonal overload and, ladies, I am not prepared.
Facebook is a little emotional terrorist, too, because it will pop up those memory videos, and I see my little bit, who used to be so tiny with pig tails and a chipmunk voice. Now she is edgy, articulate, and wise beyond her years. Where did it all go? What’s funnier is my husband has now noticed the change in our little butterfly, and oh my if you want to see a cat over water.
As she gets older, we have some of the most hilarious, thoughtful, deep, and silly conversations. One day we were sitting at lunch and she randomly asked me, “So, what do you think is under space? I know we have black holes, but what if white holes lead to another dimension of existence?” She is 11.
In the same breath, she looked our waiter dead in the eye and asked why they serve chocolate mice because she read chocolate mousse wrong on the menu. I about died laughing at that one.
I have found myself sitting in her closet looking through old pictures and drawings from when she was little (well, younger), and I just cry. It isn’t a sad cry; it is just that I cannot believe how fast it goes. They all tell you, “Don’t blink,” and here I am half an eyelid down and she is in 6th grade and already planning her career path. I know I must have looked like a pitiful little thing sitting under sundresses and t-shirts holding onto her “Lambie” after I sent her off for her first day of middle school.
During these tearful moments, I find my mind wondering into so many directions. Who will she be? Where will she live? Please dear God, wait until you are 35 to make a grandmother.
The other day I found her ultrasound and I played it. I had to break out the old DVR player, but I made it happen. It was playing to the song, “My Girl” and I absolutely lost it. I sat in my room like a child and demanded my daughter have an impromptu movie night with me and cuddled her like there was no tomorrow. She was slightly annoyed, but I simply handed over the remote control and just enjoyed her company.
This closet confession is a little different. It is a tip of the hat to all of us who sit in our closet or bedroom and tear up over memories and hug our kiddos stuffed animals when they are gone on a sleep over. I see you, mama. I am totally guilty. I think we are so busy keeping it together during the day that we hide away in a little space to ourselves when we can to reflect and occasionally ugly cry. It is okay, we are human. So, to all of you out there that are sentimental softies like me, I salute you with my tissue box.