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racing to save the girl

July 8, 2010

I am constantly astonished by what magical things float around my girl:  Long legs, blue eyes, sturdy muscles in her arms, straight blond hair, pale fur on her back and arms, loud voice, ridiculous laugh, large capacity for whining and complaining, giaganteous sharing spirit, soft red lips, small nose and tiny teeth.

I still can see if I try really hard the tiny baby she was hours after she came out into the world, into my arms where she has stayed for the most part. In my arms, next to my heart. A heart too small to hold all the love and admiration and wonder that raising such a beast spins out but filled none the less.

I worry and worry about how she will grow. How she will grow up and away from me and how I can hold her close, love her, make her feel my love when she is most apt to roll her eyes, gasp, exclaim and protest, walk away, abandon herself and me for the love and admiration of her peers.

I worry that she will fawn ridiculously over boys and will allow their opinions and thoughts about her body and mind to over take her own thoughts. I worry that she will give away her body before she can understand how it will make her feel and will be taken advantage of. I worry about how she will dress and carry herself-will it be up high and above the others comments and measure? I worry that she will loose herself before she can set to find herself. I worry she will feel forced to let herself go in place of conformity and pressure and teasing.

I worry I will loose my girl before I get her back.  I worry that I will loose her and not have the time to get her back. I worry about the inevitable ebbing away that will happen. She will be a message in a bottle set adrift pulling further away from me with each wave of the sea.

And I will have on giant flippers, weights on my ankles and be blindfolded and will run after her but won’t catch her and will be forced to sit on the shore, scanning the horizon for her return.

But for today, for now, I can hold her in my arms, kiss her face and she can put her hand on my cheek when she presses her lips to my cheek. Holding her sturdy small body that only holds potential-for good and for evil, as it goes for every woman.

3 Comments leave one →
  1. July 9, 2010 11:13 am

    I’ve said it before, but I read you sometimes, and wonder if I’m missing out. Beautiful post.

  2. July 18, 2010 3:27 pm

    This is wonderful writing. I feel the anixety, fear and the love. So much love.

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