I am writing so that I may never forget.
Today, my little girl turned 21.
I just now finished rocking her to sleep, and my mind began to fantasize about her future. And then I realized this is the last time I will be able to hold her like this when she turns 21.
I take in her sweet little round nose, her bulging cheeks, her downy, dark brown hair. I notice that there are slight curves on the edges, framing her face…will she have curls someday? Her green summer onesie has white polka dots, which accent the milk stains left over from her lunch.I notice that her face is so different now from the day I met her, even though that was only 21 days ago. How much she has already grown!
Perhaps rocking her in the glider as she laid in my lap may seem like an everyday, and therefore insignificant, event; however, it is one of those small moments that I am taking to mark in my memory. One small detail of her babyhood that I will not allow time to rob from me.
Because the next time she turns 21, she will not be a babe of 21 days, but a young woman of 21 years. She will not be falling asleep in my lap as I rock her to sleep, as I marvel at her tiny, animated facial expressions that flash across her face, offering just a glimpse into her infantile dreams. No– she will no longer possess the total innocence that she has now. No more crying for food, no more holding my finger with pudgy little hands. She may even be married by then, and no longer belong to me.
So I will hold onto this moment because I know how time flies, and she will only be the sweet little baby that I now love and can hold in my hands for a little while longer. And I want to cherish each moment that she is.