She is my baby. My last child. There will be no more fruit being birthed from these loins. Next year she will begin to think I am the dorkiest, most lame person she has ever had the misfortune to come in contact with. I will become ancient, old, and uncool. Stupid also. She will think that my best years are behind me, and I should be retiring (or dead) anytime now. The respect she has for me now will go away for a while. I know it will come back later on down the road. She will wonder why she can’t have a cool mom like so-and-so’s mom.
She will think it’s ridiculous that I won’t let her wear makeup when ALL her friends are wearing it. She will think it’s ridiculous that I won’t let her wear that shirt that a street walker wouldn’t be caught dead in. The fragile bond that is between us will be broken for a while. She has always been a “Mama’s Girl”. She has always been my shadow. She loved to play but always wanted to make sure that I was nearby. Even now she will come in the front door calling my name. Looking all over the house until she finds me.
When I was going to college at night, she would always ask me how much longer it would be until I didn’t have to be gone at night anymore. Even recently she said that she is glad I am finished with school. She is glad I am home more now. By this time next year, she will be wishing I had a class to take every night of the week. She will be plotting ways to get me out of the house.
My heart will be aching for the little girl she used to be. I will be wishing that I could make time stand still and she could be with me forever.