Sometimes I feel as if I’m in a time warp.
I frown at the new landforms on my forehead and am shocked by the giant wrinkle that resembles the grand canyon. When I yelp in horror, it echoes.
I gaze at the new white hair popping up like dandelions in the midst of my darker, younger-looking hair. And just like dandelions, the more I pull them…the more they come back.
It’s all very amusing…most days.
But recently, I looked at my children and wondered where these young ladies came from. Yesterday they were babies. They were sitting on my knees staring up at me adoringly as if I knew everything. Today – they stare at me, eyebrows raised, wondering why I still tell them to hold hands when they cross the street.
Yeah. I’m that mom.
It seems unfair that we secretly long for the days when our children are big enough NOT to need nightly feedings, diaper changes and constant attention. And yet – when that day arrives, it’s not at all as we expected.
Without warning, the time warp strikes and those little babies grow into women with ideas and dreams of their own. Dreams and ideas they have deemed important enough to pursue. Dreams and ideas that stir us to stay up nights and pray, pray, pray. Dreams that push us to bite our tongues when all we want to do is lecture. And dreams that cause us to rise to our feet and shout, “That’s my girl!”
My daughters aren’t quite women –but they aren’t babies anymore, either. Guess I’ll have to settle for the fact that they still want to sit in my lap (sometimes), occasionally think I know more than they do (at least for a moment) and are sweet and obedient enough to still hold my hand when crossing the street. And when the time warp hits again (and I know it will), and my girls pursue and achieve their heart’s passion and calling, I’ll pray, bite my tongue and then jump up and shout…”Those are our girls!”