Daughter,
I’m not sure exactly when it happened, and when I ask your father, neither is he. But apparently while we busied ourselves with dance recitals, swimming lessons, and bedtime stories you decided to transition from a pudgy little preschooler into a bonafide big girl.
Now when I look at you I find myself confused, for no longer do I see simply a darling, baby girl, but instead I see a blossoming beauty. It’s true. We’ve always found you lovely and especially adorable, but recently when I gaze upon your face I see the future. I see the woman you will become, and it scares the heck out of me.
Your cheekbones are becoming defined, your eyes looking less like giant orbs, and more like the sensuous, come-hither peepers of an attractive girl. And the thought of some stray fella becoming entranced by your baby-blues causes me to get weak in the knees. Your dad on the other hand won’t even talk about it.
While a part of me feels a motherly pride over the lovely lady I see you becoming, another part is freaking out. What will I do when you like boys more than dolls, or when you desire to enhance those glorious eyes with make-up? How will I handle raging hormones, breaking curfew, and that eventual day when you suffer your first broken heart?
What will I do when you’re ready to spread your wings and fly, when you head out for college, and leave my home?
What about when you find the one, the young man you feel completes your heart? What about helping you pick out the perfect wedding dress, or when you share the news that you’re expecting?
Right now it’s all I can do to not break into tears when I see your daddy holding you, and I realize your long legs are dangling much too far down his lengthy body. It’s all I can do to not tie a brick to the top of your head to try and prevent you from getting any taller.
I still remember your fat face, the newborn wrinkled eyes, and the way your hair smelled like a perfect mix of joy and the divine. I try to conjure up that image of the way you fit in the crook of my arm, but I open my eyes and see all lanky legs and lengthening torso. And it happened so fast. Much faster than I anticipated.
I think back again on your squirming, squealing, tiny baby self, and I know that woman holding you, although exhausted, would have fainted at the thought of the young lady you are now. She would have been ill-prepared and unable to fathom you so big and tall. Yet here I am, and here you are, and despite my weepy demeanor at times, it’s absolutely perfect. You’re perfect. And we’ve made it here just fine.
So perhaps one day I will be ready for first dates and fighting over bad boys banging at my door. And even though I can’t imagine it now, I know at some point I will be honored to hold your hand and pray with you on your wedding day.
I know God will give me the grace to proceed, the wisdom to do it well, and the strength to handle all the phases involved in being a mother to a little girl who refuses to stay little. So I’m not ready now, but I know I will be. Or so I hope.
Until then I guess I’ll hold on tight, cherish every fleeting second, and roll with the punches as they come. I will.
But could you just do your mom one small favor? Could you slow it down a bit?
Love,
Mom