The Line Is Growing Thin

A year from now she will be in junior high. That thought makes me shiver just a bit. For many reasons. Lately, when I look at her, she just feels, well, older. The other day I found her with her hair clipped up and her music blaring to a song I had never heard.

I watched her from afar for a moment. She sang the lyrics and curled her hair. Before my eyes that line got thinner. You know the line. The one that separates girl from young woman. Little from big. That line in thinning. Pretty soon it will be hard to even see.

Several weeks ago she bounded down the stairs to show me that she had hair on her armpits. Upon close examination, I found two. She then told me that she is going to start putting on deodorant. She now keeps a post-it note by her sink and she makes a little mark on it every time she swipes her Lady's Speed Stick. So funny, this girl.

For a mother, it's somewhat soul changing when those lines of change start to blur. I seem to watch them happen with amazement and also a tinge of sadness for what has been left behind. Yet, she grows. She changes. She reaches. All three of them do. And simultaneously, I too grow and change and reach. The line grows thin, but not so much that it will completely disappear. A part of me will always see her as whole made up of each stage and part. A girl whose light brings life to mine.