Third child of mine

“The days are long, but the years are short.” – Gretchen Rubin

Yesterday was my youngest child’s birthday.

We went to the park.

I watched as she organized a human pyramid with her friends.
I watched as she danced and sang with such confidence and grace.
I watched as she crossed the monkey bars with ease.

And I realized that she is quickly becoming a young lady.
She seemed so much older than her nine years.

It seems so cliché, I know, but honestly… how did this happen?

She’s the little one.
Always has been and always will be.

But really, how much longer can I say that?
She isn’t so little anymore.

And then I think of how…

She still counts down the hours until I get home from work.
She still sleeps surrounded by her stuffed animals under the soft glow of a nightlight.
She still longs for a cuddle before being tucked in and never lets me leave her room without saying “I love you all the way to the moon and back.”

And I smile as I realize she is still very much a little girl.

She’s baby number three.
The last one for me.

And now, more than ever, I am so very aware of how quickly she’s growing up.
Watching her teeter-totter from young girl to preteen is tough.

I’m looking forward to watching her grow up. I really am.
But I’m doing it while constantly looking over my shoulder at her past.