Standing over me, as I help with something on your computer, and I turn to you and ask you a question, all business you are, and you pull your hair back and twist it around, the way I do when I’m thinking, and you hold it there, and focus on the screen, thinking, your face in a certain kind of mold, I can’t explain, except one word comes to mind: maturity.
This is a time for glimpses of maturity; for some it’s a smooth, obvious scaling, and for others it’s a rocky, in-and-out collection of micro moments. And for others, it doesn’t even start for another few years…
But you, well. I get daily reminders, notifications, that you are very much becoming you while very much loyally, deeply, corely, you.
One thing I’ve picked up, in being your mother, and maybe you can thank the fact that you’re not the first or the second go I’ve had – is to stand back and let. Stand back and let.
Stand back and let you be a little nervous, because you’ll go do the thing anyway despite that.
Stand back and let you be bold, even if I’d never do that myself, because that’s exactly what you’re capable of.
Stand back and let you try things – to turn cardboard into castles, paper towel rolls into roller coasters, worn out fabric into evening wear.
If I stand back and let, you’re halfway there, wherever there is. That’s true for 10-month old crawler you, and it’s true for 11-year-old “let’s go, gotta start planning my Bat Mitzvah” you.
Whadya got: