They say it all the time.
Don’t blink. Enjoy every moment because one day you’ll wake up and your baby won’t be a baby anymore.
And here she is, my daughter, just born yesterday…about to turn 10. Almost as tall as me, thin and lanky (unlike me) with royal blue streaks in her hair. We have to shop in the Juniors Department for her because she is mostly limbs and has no desire to wear shirts with cartoons or cheesy sayings.
Alora is very much her father, and if he were alive, I don’t know how he’d be handling all of these changes in the little girl she was. I don’t know how he’d handle seeing all the similarities between the two of them now, both physically and mentally, because I sure as hell don’t keep it together a lot of the time.
There is beautiful mirroring: the soft brown of her eyes set beneath familiar brows. The shape of her feet and toes identical to ones I’ve seen before.
And there is some ugliness. Deep-seeded frustration after disappointment. Quick sarcasm to deflect questions. Unexplained sadness that comes in like waves. Deja vu.
Like most young ladies she can be two people: in one breath arguing valid points of contentment with my parenting and in her exhale curling up beside me in silence, only wanting to be held.
I love her so very much. Sometimes I’m so angry that I happened to blink.