This weekend is superbowl 45. It’s also my eldest child’s 12th birthday. We’re most likely going to put it off to the following weekend since she still hasn't told me what she wants to do. But the fact that she’s going to be twelve got me thinking.
This super tall young lady is almost a teenager. This bundle of awkwardness that hates going to school in the dark and her headgear was once small enough to sleep on my chest.
Like all mommas, I miss her being small. I miss her hair smelling like baby shampoo and being the most important person in her little world. Now she has a crush on a boy and struggles with math.
At one time she’d do just about anything I asked her. Now I’ve got to yell to get her attention.
I know that the time is coming that I will be the biggest idiot on the planet as far as she’s concerned, that she will tell her friends things before she tells me anything. That some boy is eventually going to convince her to “get stupid” with him (honestly, that scares me to death; my baby having a physical relationship with some boy).
I know that she’s going to graduate from high school in a few short years and go off to college because she wants to be a veterinarian.
None of what I know will ever change how much I miss the tiny black haired newborn she once was.