I don't quite know when it happened. When did she get so tall? Has her face changed yet again? Did I not just pull her out of a baby pouch and stand her on chubby, wobbly legs to roam freely in the grass? I sit here alone in the living room and glance at the clean laundry sprawled out all over our sofa, but I cannot let this moment pass me by, for I fear that it may forever be lost if I do not write. I must write.
Tonight I looked at your big, brown eyes staring up at me. I stroked your wet hair as your naked form stood next to mine in the shower. You nestled your head against my ribcage while I rinsed away shampoo suds. No longer a babe in my arms, but a little lady. A baby still, yet no longer. I take a deep breath.
We step out onto the mat and I look at your feet. They've grown. They are shaped just like mine. You brush your teeth and I glance up at the mirror. Who is this woman looking back at me? I see myself, yet someone else as well. A familiar face from my youth. A mother.
You brush and floss your own teeth, and I begin to brush your hair. You reach for the brush and say, "I'll do it." I follow you into your room. You get into your pajamas, then you offer to read me a bedtime story for a change. "Okay," I say. We snuggle up close and I listen as you read me one of your favorite books. I hear your tale, but in my mind's eye, I'm taken to another place...a vision of our journey together thus far.
I glance down at my swollen belly, then at the dirt road under foot. Starting at the base of the hill, I cannot see the road ahead. I begin the walk.
Soon I am swaddling a babe in my arms. I keep walking. The road is windy as we begin to climb higher and higher still. We round the corner. Now you are on my back.
Another turn up ahead. I lean over as you grasp my fingers for support while your little legs scoot along.
I look to my left, and now you are reaching up to take hold of just one hand. We walk like this for a long time, hand-in-hand, along the steady incline. Sometimes I carry you.
We skip. We run. We laugh.
You pout. I shout. We laugh. We cry.
We walk.
We run.
We stop.
Another blind corner.
Slowly we approach. Then we gasp. It's beautiful.
We are at the edge of the precipice, overlooking the beautiful valley.
The edge of innocence.
Now the tough questions begin.
"Mommy, why doesn't her daddy live with her and her mommy?"
"Do some people not go to heaven?" "Where do they go instead?"
"How do they make donuts anyway?" Giggle
We stand like this for a bit longer, side by side.
We both look down.
It's a long way down.
A gust of wind forces a step back.
You reach up and clench my hand once more.
Both fear and excitement burn like fire in your eyes.
Shall we explore? Or will we gaze out for just a bit longer, my Love?
Stay close to Mama. Don't let go of my hand just yet.
Not yet.
