Sometimes, it’s like I forget she’s a big girl. Sometimes, it’s like I want to forget.
Then I look at a picture like this one I took yesterday.
And this one, from a couple of weeks ago.
And I realize, there’s no getting around it. She’ll be nine at the end of this month. Nine.
Holy hell.
In just a year there will be another digit to contend with. But fuck me, it’s already too big a number as far as I’m concerned. Too big and crushing and impossible. Yesterday she was in pull-ups and gnawing on icy teething rings. Yesterday she was wearing onesies and her head was covered in a static-y fuzz of down-like hair. Yesterday I was breastfeeding her and reading Goodnight Moon and Runaway Bunny aloud each night as she lolled sleepily in my arms.
Every yesterday aches in my heart. Every yesterday feels real and alive in my mind, as if it were today.
And every today is gone too soon.






