In two weeks, she will be two. Two years old.
Yesterday, I took her to class. A soft separation class. A preschool prep class. The plan was to carry her the distance. But she wanted to be put down. "I want to walk myself!" she said so clearly.
And so I obliged. I placed her down on the sidewalk. I let her go. And she didn't walk.
She ran. And I jogged after her, a mixture of mild panic and profound pride. I snapped a few shots. To have evidence. Of the ponytail. The clothes her big sister once wore. The movement. The motion. The magic.
And then she was a blur. A happy blur just within reach.
In class, I hung back and let her do her thing. She perched on a tiny chair and focused on a puzzle. Quietly, from that parental periphery, I watched her. Amazed. Awed. Aware. Aware that she is getting bigger and older by the day. That she will be my one-year-old for only two more weeks. That she will be my Baby for only a few more months.
How did this happen?
- Are you amazed at how quickly time passes and how profoundly things change?
- Do you enjoy putting your kids in hand-me-downs?
- Do you think that snapping pictures sometimes allows us to see things differently and revere the benign blur of evolution?
- Can you believe my once-bald babe has such a fabulous ponytail?