She fights me when it is time to go to bed. She fights me when it is time to get up. She fights me when it’s time to cut her toenails or brush her hair. Before anything, she will fight me.
She drinks up my ice water or soda. She snaps her eyes and rolls them simultaneously. She laughs at me like her brothers do. And she kicks me all night, backhands me, and steals covers.
She has drama at the drop of a hat. She will still let out a wail like no other or scream when she is mad. She stomps her feet so much I think she is a grass dancer. She slams doors only the way an emotional girl could.
She cries to sad movies, loves I Love Lucy and The Golden Girls.
She is my only daughter. The top of her head comes up to my mouth. I was thinking this morning, soon she will be taller than me and I will still walk her to school. Still hold her hand. She is my only daughter. Still a baby, still my baby girl.
Growing up, soon there will be bras, and periods, and boys. All her beloved dinosaurs and stuffed animals she gives tough love too will go away. And she will be wanting teenage things.
And that scares the crap out of me.
We get to her school, by the sign and she lets go of my hand. I still follow her. she turns around and waves.
“Only to the sign remember?”
I hold my hand up to block the early morning sun. I watch her climb the steps to the playground and head towards growing up.