Growing Up

Tomorrow, my very first baby girl will be 12 years old.

I am not sure I'm ready. No, I know I'm not ready. I want more time. There are words that have more meaning to me as I look at the past 11 years and try to grasp at the last few tendrils of my daughter's childhood innocence. Brief. Momentary. Fleeting. My girlfriend, whose two oldest daughters were passing through the phases of getting married and having babies at the time we talked, reported something to the effect that pre-school and elementary school years last forever, middle school is over in a week, and high school is over in a day. I am beginning to get the picture.

There is little I can do to stop this tide. It is coming, and I need to roll with it. However, with each passing phase, we mourn. I am in mourning. It is bitter sweet, and necessary. Up to this point, I have lived and loved with my eyes wide open, and although I know I have done a lot with my little girls, it feels normal to wonder if I could have done more. I have had appreciation and joy in each phase of Heather's development so far. I think what I'm feeling today is that it simply went by so fast. Too fast.

I usually learn from these little mourning phases that it is not too late and that she isn't off to college just yet, and then I happily do something about what I'm feeling. Sunday night after a full day of business at church, I put the girls to bed and sat on the couch for a few moments alone. It was after eleven (we are so naughty about bed time right now), and found myself missing my girls. It was one of those days that goes by in a rush, and you realize that you didn't make the most of love that day. I went into the girls' room to give some lovin'. I climbed Heather's ladder and told her I wanted to have some snuggles and tell her I love her. She was very cute and for fifteen minutes, straight, she related all she had been doing in her Pokemon DSi game that week. Fifteen minutes, non-stop, no breaks. All I could do was look at her, nod my head and give a well-placed, "mm-hmm" now and then. I finally had to ask her if she could tell me the rest tomorrow since my feet were losing circulation standing barefoot on the bunk bed ladder. Before I climbed down, I asked her if she was holding that all in her head this whole time to which she replied, "Yes! Thank you for listening to me. It feels good to talk about it because you listen to me and xxxx makes fun of me when I talk about it." And then she hugged me.

Because she's a pre-teen, she'll die of embarrassment that I shared that story, but it is now precious to me. The experience tells me that even if she doesn't need me for the usual climb-in-my-lap cuddles that were prevalent before she got too tall to do so, she still needs me to listen. I am hoping (and praying earnestly) that I will be able to interpret this new phase resplendent with eye-rolls, short-tempered answers and oddly timed outbursts, and know how to love my little girl in the ways she needs me now.

We'll see how it goes. I will need lots, and lots of advice, so thank you, in advance.