That's my daughter, who is as of yesterday, six years old.
Six.
There's something different watching a daughter grow up, as opposed to a son. I mean, much of it is the same - the same wonder and gratitude and bittersweet feeling of sadness that time is moving too quick. But with a daughter, you can't help but think about yourself too, when you were a girl, you can't help seeing the ways she's like you and the ways she's different. You're remembering how you felt at all those milestones.
This last year, from five to six, has been a really big one for Seconda, and I feel like she's taken a massive leap forward in time, gone from five to ten. I'm sure its tied to becoming a big sister, and scrambling to discover what her place is in our new family structure, one where she is no longer the only daughter, one where she's no longer the baby. She's done it too, found her place, elegantly taken on the mantle of big sister, taking pride in being genuinely helpful and caring, learning to express the great, profound, incredible wealth of feeling that she's always had, so that we're not just left with mouths agape wondering what's she's thinking. She's learned a bit of impulse control. She hasn't emptied my perfume into the radiator or eaten my lipstick in a long, long tim.
Its been a big year, with a lot of growing pains in the beginning, and I'm so proud to find my daughter at the end of five, and beginning of six, so grown-up. No longer a baby, but, of course, still my baby. Always.
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