My daughter, my beautiful butterfly, I watch as the baby in you fades and a little girl emerges.
Your chubby cheeks slim and reveal high, broad cheekbones. Your legs stretch and lengthen, and rolls of baby fat disappear from around your thighs.
You take greater command of your body each day, exploring new places and new heights. I'm just as likely to find you atop the climbing wall at the playground as I am atop the kitchen table. This newfound bravery wears me out sometimes -- your growing size keeping pace with huge reserves of energy and curiosity.
And speaking of curiosity, how many questions will I answer today? We have conversations, complete with your opinions, demands and lists of favorite things. When I say "Goodnight." You say, "Goodnight", also. My words"I love you" are returned with "I love you too". My heart is warmed each time, as if I'm hearing them for the first time.
You have friends, some real and some stuffed, thanks to an imagination that takes us to faraway places and on silly adventures. We share tea out of miniature cups and saucers, and call Grammy on a make-believe phone.
Nothing pleases me more than to be the one who witnesses your growth -- even if it means I have to be the one who mourns the baby becoming a memory. It's one of the many paradoxes of being a parent. I celebrate you, as I let you go.
When I look at the pictures of you taken as an infant and, later, as a baby, I see how you changed then. It’s crazy, but I didn't seem to notice how you grew into a baby, at the time. I can't believe that you ever fit in the crook of my arm.
I feel completely sure that I’m not going to forget this moment. I'm not going to forget you becoming a little girl. Yet…
I’ve decided to write it down, so I know that I watched you transform from a baby to a little girl. I want to remember this time, make a record of it. I want proof that we were here together for this magical metamorphosis, my daughter, my beautiful butterfly.
Connect with: Bloglovin', FB, Twitter, G+, Pinterest
Photo source: Hannes Grobe/AWI; 2010