Five entered our house last month. I *dreaded* it for half the year, realizing that 5 years old marked the end of any remaining sense of baby and toddlerhood. Five marked the beginning of *girl*hood and I wasn’t sure I was ready for that. I wanted to hold onto the Firefly I knew, a little anxious over the Firefly to come, wondering if I’d loved you well enough, taught you enough . . . played with you enough.
Regret doesn’t take long to enter the rose-colored bliss of motherhood.
But Five and time came pushing hard against this mother’s will, and it entered in all smiles and little girls surrounding. I watched you dance and stilled under your ear-to-ear smiles, and suddenly, peace came with Five. And, of course, you didn’t automatically awaken as a different person on the morning of your birthday – change is usually full of grace and enters more slowly – but I *do* find that you’ve changed.
And I really like it.
I love that we can meet eyes and giggle together over little sister’s head when she babbles in her very own, grammatical way. I love that we can run, hand-in-hand, to the women’s restroom and I can cover your seat with toilet paper and then run to my own stall and we chat like friends over the walls. I love that we can work on reading together and both of our eyes widen and our amazed laughs burst out at your progress. I love that you’re so very grown up. Yet you still ask to be read library books amidst cuddling under blankets on the couch. You still hold my hand across the parking lots and I can still smother your face in kisses without any protests.
I love Five.