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You don’t have to go home, but you can’t stay here

September 2, 2011

The lithe young blond girl who comes down my stairs with the thunder of her black chuck’s with her hair combed is a strange creature to me. Spirtely mischievous smiles have always covered her face but now the giant gap in her front two teeth she looks decidedly older; more mature with missing teeth. My daughter remembers things like her school work, her lunch and to brush her hair.

Sometimes it feels like you are suspended in midair with your children and you feel as though you will suffocate with the monotony of whining, crying, eating, talking, explaining, hugging and kissing. Impatient with their development and inability to get with the program. They grow out and all over everything spilling out their bad ideas that are too messy and smelly.

All of a sudden the clouds break and you see a small person who is more independent, self-confident, beautifully older in a way that is scary but exciting. You are moving along -still holding their hand but they are almost up to your shoulder and you don’t have to bend down as far to kiss them hello.

I can’t hold on to who they were as babies because they have grown right out of my lap, stepped right out into their own worlds that eventually I will no longer star in but be relegated to the chorus with some bit part that feels awfully sentimental.

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