Small Again

Tonight after work, Lauren put on her gymnastics outfit and we went out front so she could practice her cartwheels in front of a street full of boys (the neighbor boys, ages 10 and 13 had a bunch of friends riding skateboards and bikes in front of our house). Lauren patiently waited until she caught the attention of Sammy, her one true love (she chose him long ago as her betrothed, when she was all of 2). Then, with a flip of her freshly washed hair, she launched into a cartwheel (it actually was pretty good if you didn't count the landing).

Sammy, who just so happens to be the sweetest boy on earth, complimented our girl, and she ran beaming back inside the house. [Ok, I'm actually embellishing that part, because anyone who knows this child understands that she would never, and I mean, never, voluntarily go back in the house. It just didn't sound as romantic to say I had to pick her up like a football and carry her under one arm with her exceptionally strong legs flailing.]

Once back inside, she asked for her height to be measured and put her back against her measuring chart on the wall in her room. At first I thought I was seeing things. Three months ago she was 42 inches tall and today? 43 inches. Wow. She has been seeming so much more mature and well, bigger, lately. Not just in the way she looks, but in the way she speaks and the conversations we now engage in.

Lauren constantly tells us, often with tears in her eyes, that she doesn't want to grow up or get "big". Often while cradled in my arms in her rocking chair before bed (a ritual she still insists on most nights), she will look at me with wide, blue eyes and whisper, between yawns, "Oh Mama, I wish I was small again." Of course I always reassure her and tell her how wonderful it is to grow up and all of the amazing things she, and we, will get to do together. But browsing through some of our online albums tonight, I came across this image:



I love, love, love the girl she is becoming and the relationship we are developing, but I look at the eyes in that photo, those same eyes that peered deep into mine in that rocking chair tonight, and know, without a doubt, that she will always be my baby.