These are silly thoughts, I know. She grows more independent each day, finding her way without me. I used to be the center of her world, and now I’m just a spectator.
She still needs me, I am sure.
“Mom, where did you put my gym uniform?” Or, “Can you drive me to Jennifer’s house?” is sometimes all I get in a day.
Other times, when I am lucky, we share belly laughs over a silly joke or a memory emblazoned in my mind, such as when she first learned to boogie board or performed in her first play.
And too quickly, the moment is gone, slipping through my fingers as I try to hold on.
I don’t long for the days of tantrums and dirty diapers. I am not sad that I no longer receive 5:30 a.m. wake up calls to turn on the television for Dora or the fact that I do not have to endure potty training another child. I do not miss the Crayola markings on my wall or the legos I no longer step on in the middle of the night.
But it is hard to know that you are no longer the guiding force for your tiny human, that you are no longer the sun to her small planet.
She gravitates to new things every day — friends, media, causes, hobbies — and it is thrilling and terrifying at the same time.
I long to hold her back for just one more day, keep her small and uninformed and protected.
But she’s slipping through my fingers as she rushes to grow up, a little more every day.
So instead of losing my grip, I choose to walk beside her when she lets me. Sometimes I am allowed to hold her hand, and sometimes I stand off to the side, watching her take on this scary world in her own beautiful way.
My role is no longer to be her sun. My job is to be her moon, connected by a force so strong that it will never break. I follow her along, providing light in her darkest moments, direction when needed. Sometimes my presence is large and looming, and sometimes it is small, barely seen by the naked eye. But I am always there.
She’s slipping through my fingers, a little more every day.
So I attempt the impossible for any parent to keep her within my reach.
I let go of her hand.
She slipped through my fingers. I hope my love will always guide her way.
This article originally appeared at Playdates on Fridays.
