Writer on the Wall

Somehow my baby isn’t a baby anymore. She’s becoming a young woman.

When she was little, I used to call her Katie Bear. But that just doesn’t feel right anymore.

Sometimes, she’s angsty and moody, and the teenage years are still technically two years away. Those moods trouble our easy relationship, frustrating us both. But I remember how much she means to me, and we somehow seem to work through it.

It all goes by so fast. Seems those chubby-cheeked pictures of her were just yesterday. But now she likes her bangs grown out, and her cheeks aren’t chubby any more.

It’s an amazing thing, watching a little person become a big person. Some of the best of me, some of her that’s even better than me.

Her smile is bigger and brighter than mine. And she has an easy way of making friends that I’ll never master. But I see myself in the grey-blue oceans of her eyes. We are family.