My eldest daughter is 10. A decade. That’s double digits. TEN. How did this happen? It seems like just yesterday I was admiring our new 8 lb 10 oz worth of perfection:
And I was a new mom. Ready to face the challenge of sleepless nights, dirty diapers and drool. “Of course, I didn’t know yet of all the other stuff… that nursing doesn’t just “happen naturally”, that babies have gas (and there’s a wonderful thing called Mylecon), that your hair will fall out & darken, and that your body will never be the same in certain ways again. That the first time your child vomits you will feel the urge to rush them to the emergency room. That there never was a brighter child in all the world. That the quiet moments of toddlers mean they are getting into something. That the words “I wuv you momma” would make your eyes sweat. That a piece of your heart now walks around on the outside of your body.
And then you think you’ve gotten it all figured out and you blink and your baby isn’t a baby any more. She’s turning into a young woman in front of your eyes. She doesn’t need “little kid chopsticks” anymore.
She has her own opinions, personality quirks, and feelings. Lots of them. You hope that all the training you’ve done is “good enough” and that it’s not too late to help mold her into the Christian woman God wants her to be.
My baby isn’t a baby anymore. But she’ll always be my baby, and when I look at her, I still marvel at God’s perfection: