"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.