I'm holding my breath, thinking that maybe it will help slow time down. If I don't breath the moment won't pass, and then the next moment would take just a little bit longer to get here. We could sit here in this patch of flowers forever while I watch her play with her doll.
I'm still not breathing. My son, at his wise old age of 11, teases her when she calls me Mommy. Pretty soon she won't want to call me Mommy any more and then it will just be Mom. Then nobody will ever call me Mommy again.
I have to breath now, and blink a little, just so that I don't cry. If I cry she will see me and ask why I'm sad. I don't want her to think I'm sad. I want her to know how happy she makes me. How proud I am of the amazing little girl that she is becoming.
I tilt my head because I think I see just a little bit more of myself in her today, than I did yesterday. That makes me worry that she will make the same mistakes that I did.
But of course she won't. She will make her own mistakes, lots of them I'm sure. She will suffer her own broken hearts. Maybe from a boy who won't realize how lucky he is to have her in his life, even if it is just for a little while. Maybe from her children, who will one day have to grow up as well. Probably both. My heart will break along with hers, because I want her to never be sad.
I'm still breathing, but it's slow and controlled. I don't want this moment to end yet. I'm not ready. If I could keep her wrapped in ruffles and daisy shaped buttons for just a little bit longer, maybe just for forever. That would be long enough.
There are things that I should tell you, things about sewing, and matching girl and doll skirts. But I just can't today. I'm to busy savoring. We can talk about that stuff tomorrow.
