The baby had a hard day. I picked you up from school, and you had already glanced at my messy bun, and knew my day was less than fun. “Mama, your day was hard because she is really screechy.” Super screechy.
Your black yoga pants are loose against your lean legs, and you decided to not wear a coat to school. When we got home and you said “I’m here to help.” I truthfully never saw you. I forgot to remind you that you are awesome.
You arrived in the kitchen with your long ponytail and your hoodie, and your movements are precise. There is no more awkward child in your body. You are big. When did you get big?
This past weekend you went shopping with your Granny and returned with dresses that match your style and your enthusiasm. I adore your confidence. I hope you keep it forever. When did you get big enough to know your style? To know what makes you feel like a rockstar?
At bedtime I apologized for the challenging afternoon. We hugged, hard and long. You told me it’s okay. When did you become big enough to know that a hard day is only one hard day? And that the hard days end, and they are no ones fault? When did you get this big?
You my sweet, you are awesome. I wish I could tell you to slow down, but your Montessori training, and your independent nature will laugh in my face. You are big, like the baby says. You are so big. You are my big, and everyday I learn from your grace.