It's not so bad, really, when your baby turns 13. As it turns out, she's just a bigger version of the little one you've always loved. Too big now to hold in your arms. But you remember how hard it once was to put her down. How it hurt your heart to let her out of your arms, and so you rarely did. You remember how you used to laugh together in disbelief at the idea that she would someday get too big. How is it that that day is already here?
It's not so bad because she loves her birthday crown of flowers every year a little more. And she asks for that birthday poem we always read that promises candles on a cake and the same number of kisses when she wakes. 13 tomorrow.
It's not so bad because she is amazing. Because the tremendous wonder now is not in what she will become but in who she is becoming. And that feels, more than ever, like that starts now. What a miracle she is. My dear, sweet, heart. My girl becoming.
And so why do I feel so sad? Why do I struggle today to suppress the grief of what has gone by in favor of the joy of what is right now and yet to come? What does it take to slow time? Just a little? And if I could, what would I hold on to?
Moments like today, perhaps... Sophie singing along to recordings of violin music she is supposed to learn, sheet music on her head, bouncing rhythms on the couch pillows. Or Max making time to include me in a game, before some precious lego time with dad. Or opening the laundry closet door and finding a tutu clad Stella, perched in a pile of dirty clothes, smiling up at me.
Because what could be luckier, really, than this lifetime full of those experiences and images framing everything that lies ahead. Far from forgotten. A part of us all. It must be time to cheer up. And celebrate.
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