You Are The Last

My baby turned 10 yesterday and although this seems like an event that should have left me panicked and sleepless, fretting about the passing of time and other such fears that are completely out of my control, I actually coped with it all quite well.

In keeping with the tradition (that isn't really a tradition yet, although I would like it to be), I wrote a poem for my little girl for her birthday. Here it is:

You Are The Last

I don’t know when it happened-

The minute you turned from the little girl

 I thought would be the death of me:

The one who ran away and hid at the house down the street,

Who painted nail polish across the duvet cover

And scribbled on books and freshly painted walls,

Into the girl you are now:

The one who fetches me cold glasses of water,

Who makes her bed without me asking

And begs to do the laundry.

 I see you filling up with kindness,

 Someone clear and sparkling.

 I love everything about you, sweet ten-year-old girl.

The way you hug me in the morning,

Coming up behind me like a secret I hadn’t guessed yet

And wrapping your arms around my waist,

Your body still warm from sleep.

I love your sweet little nose

And your golden hair

And the way you giggle,

Enthusiasm bubbling out of every pore.

You are the baby, the little one,

Tiny rose petal lips and shining cheeks.  

You are the last

And so I need to remind myself to savor you.

To keep you here on my tongue

Something sweet and warm

That I wish could last forever.