My beautiful daughter, Cate, turned eight on the 21st. I feel like I blinked and there she was standing in front of me her wild blonde hair
and crooked teeth. As a mother, this experience isn’t unique. There isn’t anyone out there that has children that hasn’t felt how I felt today watching her blow out her candles, another year older. I can’t help but feel enormous joy with a slight sting of sadness. She’s such a remarkable little person – I’m so proud of how she’s grown and the young lady that she’s becoming. But gone is my little baby who needed my help to stand, to walk, to read. She still holds my hands, she still reaches for me to hug and squeeze and cuddle – I know those days of generous affection are numbered…
I often take moments looking at her and her big sister and try to burn the images into my mind of what they are in these moments. The unbrushed hair, the untucked shirt, the frosting on her cheek she missed or the fingerprint I can see on the edge of her glasses that she smudged as she was pushing them up her sweaty nose after a hot night of bouncing on the trampoline.
I have heard how the days seem long but the years are short and it couldn’t be more true. My sweet, sweet Cate is another year older and before long there will be nine candles on the cake. How lucky I am to be her mother. How lucky I am to have eight years of Cate in my life.