“Gettin’ rid of some clothes, mom?” she asked, joining me in her closet.
“Uh-huh,” I sighed. And she responded by wrapping her arms around my waist before dashing out of the room to play make-believe with her little brother.
I listened to their merry chatter before bagging up the outgrown clothes. And cloaked in melancholy, I hauled the bag out to the car.
Looking at that sack of little girl clothes that no longer fit left my mouth watering for more – just one more taste of days gone by. Just one more minute to soak in the presence of the little girl who is no more.
But the truth is, she’ll always be my little girl, even when she insists that she’s not. Even after a series of growth spurts lands her in the same size clothing as me. Even when she is old enough to leave me.
Because I will always hold onto the memories. Of the little girl who wore the little clothes. The one who laughed and cried without abandon. The one who never hesitated to wrap her arms around my waist.
I will always hold onto that little girl, even when there’s a big girl wrapped in my embrace.
