The magnificent first born sits in the passenger side and asks, “Mama, am I turning into a teenager?”
“Yes,” the mother says grasping the steering wheel a bit tighter knowing that the grasp on her daughter just loosened a tad bit.
A dozen years spent stretching up to eye level with the mama. The mama who is grateful that the two can still see eye to eye most of the time. The eyes of the younger dance with anticipation of all that is life. The eyes of the older soak in the innocence and treasure of girlish promise.
The two were returning from a rite of passage, a ride of passage, if you will. The first trip to the movies with a sweet friend at her side paid for with babysitting money preceded by a drop off, followed by a pick up. Giggling rides to and fro as they chatter of fingernail polish and kids in school. This dear one who as a toddler clenched my hand while walking cautiously over crunchy fall leaves now with that same hand waves and blows me a kiss to adventure on her own. The turning of the season in life as she turns her back and lightly skips away.
This mother finds her heart happy. Humbled to be allowed to peek in at this beautiful turning. Thank you, daughter, for growing gracefully. I love you, Raimy!
[This post is dedicated to my mother on her birthday, who shares the day with said 12 year-old’s half birthday, who has faithfully celebrated my own turnings with empowering trust and encouragement.]