“I’m 16!” She shouts at the breakfast table.
“Your not 16, you are three.”
She bursts into a fit of giggles and a sprig of pain pierces my heart.
This thing has happened over the last few years. I have noticed that every time I blink, another year has passed. Although yesterday, my whole being had prayed for bed time to come quickly.
“The days are long, but the years are fast.”
There are many mothering days that make me want to hide in a closet and take a nap. There are days where I look around and see the chaos of this tantrum crazed three year old, and I can’t imagine how we could possibly all get out alive. So much disorganized passion trapped in such a tiny body. It can’t me rationalized with, it’s on the edge of an emotional cliff, and it’s taking us all over the ledge.
I need to remind myself while watching the flailing, that I’m going to blink my eyes, and this little ball of fire will in fact be sixteen years old. There won’t be any fights about eating her eggs. She won’t ask me for 24 extra hugs and kisses at bed time. She won’t run to me, climb into my lap, and find refuge from the latest boo boo.
Today little one…..you are not sixteen. Today you are three, let’s enjoy it together.