I know it sounds cliché, and I’ve heard it a hundred times from others, but I can’t help thinking: how did this happen so fast?
It feels like just yesterday I held her for the first time in the hospital. I still remember that scent—the unfamiliar yet instantly recognizable baby smell that can’t be mistaken for anything else. I would have recognized it among a thousand, and sometimes, when she cuddles up next to me on the couch, I can still faintly sense it in her hair.
Not long ago, I was dressing her in 56-size onesies, trembling as I slipped her tiny feet in because I didn’t even know how to hold them—now I’m shopping for sneakers she’ll climb the climbing wall in.
As I try to keep track of what I saw where and for how much, what’s worth buying now and what I’ve already crossed off the list, a thousand questions swirl in the back of my mind. Should the pencil case have compartments? Should the backpack have a clasp or a zipper? I can decide those. But so many things won’t depend on me anymore.
Will she find new friends? Will there be someone to sit next to on the first day? Will she feel comfortable in this new, structured world where she can’t always retreat to her mom’s lap? How will she handle her first disappointment, competition, or failure? And how will I handle it? How can I support her, let go, hold back, and encourage—always exactly what she needs? Have I given her enough so far to face the challenges ahead, and will I be able to give enough when she faces very different struggles than before?
I’m anxious, yet I’m waiting for this change with proud curiosity
Because here she is—a little person who not long ago could only cry to show she was hungry or sleepy, and now she asks questions, tells stories, argues, bargains, and sometimes even corrects me. It’s clear we’ve grown together over the years. I’ve learned so much from my daughter.
I see so many things differently because of her, and I’m so lucky to watch from the front row how that tiny hospital bundle I brought home six years ago has started to become a one-of-a-kind personality.
And now, as she tries on her little backpack in the middle of the store and nods with satisfaction, saying “this will do,” something changes again. A new chapter begins. Tiny, tiny steps, but she’s starting down the path she’ll one day walk without me. She’s beginning to grow up, to become more independent, and this is the time when I’ll only watch from the sidelines. I feel grateful to be able to watch.
As I pay, I try to release the tightness in my chest and think: this is another first. Every first is filled with excitement, fear, and endless possibility. There will be many more ahead. Many firsts that bring her closer to a more grown-up, independent life. Today she still comes to me if she has a bad dream at night and sleeps beside me when she’s sick, but she’s already organizing her school notebooks in her own room—far from that helpless newborn who depended on me for everything. And how far she’ll go… As a mom, I can only hope I’ve tied our bond tight enough to hold strong, no matter where life takes her.
