I looked into your face today, my girl, and I saw your wisdom, your plans, and all your tricks and dreams. You are suddenly older, and I think I just saw it happen. For once, I saw it with my own eyes instead of through the eyes of people who don’t see you every day. “Oh, she’s getting so big!” they say, or “You were just a baby the last time I saw you.” Today, I was looking right into your face and I saw you grow up.
It was a little nothing of a moment. I met you outside your class when the school day ended, and you ran down the ramp to greet me. You smiled at me. You hugged me with all of your five-and-three-quarters-year old might. I looked into your face and I saw you age.
“Do we have time to play for a bit before my piano lesson, and get a snack? How about if we play for just one minute?” you asked. A minute is a long time now, when you age so quickly right before my eyes. You don’t know what you’re asking. You just want to swing on the monkey bars. “Yes, we have one minute,” I reply, “but only one.”
A moment ago you would not have asked me that question. You would have asked “Can we play?”, and when I told you that if we played too long we would not have time to get a snack before your piano lesson, you would have moped, stomped, scrunched up your face. But I saw you age in front of my eyes today. You gave me the plan, options considered, consequences weighed.
I keep looking into your face today, to try to catch you at it again. I know if I look hard enough, I’ll see it. I’ll remember it. You are growing up, little wisp.
It was a little nothing of a moment. It was only a minute ago. You were just a baby the last time I saw you.