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When I Realized My Little One Is Now a Big Kid
I used to change her diapers, but one day, she was proudly potty trained. I remember those evenings when I would feed her a bottle before bed, and now she confidently fills her own glass of water to set on her nightstand. I used to sing her to sleep, my voice soothing her, but these days, my singing is more of a comedy act. “Mom! You’re singing the wrong words!” she exclaims with laughter.
Every morning, I used to squeeze her chubby baby arms into cute onesies. Now, she insists on picking out her own outfits and dresses herself without any help. I used to pack her lunch and then we would meet in the bathroom to choose a hairstyle for the day. I would braid, ponytail, and use countless sprays to keep her hair in place while we talked excitedly about school. Now, she styles her hair independently each morning.
Before she headed off to school, I would tie her shoes while she gave me the “sad lip,” not wanting to leave me. Now, I hear a flurry of footsteps and a cheerful “Bye Mom! I love you!” as she rushes out the door, leaving me in a quiet house that was just filled with her energy.
I always run to the door, asking her to come back for a quick kiss. She hugs me tightly, her small hands squeezing my cheeks as she presses her nose against mine and says, “I love your squishy face!”—a phrase I’ve used since she was born. I hear her voice fading as she walks down the driveway, and I sometimes find myself standing alone, wondering how time has flown by so fast.
Many of my once cherished “mom duties” have gradually been taken over by her growing independence. Just this morning, as she finished her hair for the fourth day in a row without needing my assistance, a little piece of my heart broke. She’s not my little baby anymore; she doesn’t need me the way she once did.
I can’t pinpoint when it all changed, but I recently started noticing it. The small tasks I used to love helping her with now feel like a bittersweet memory. In just two weeks, she’ll turn 8, and it’s hard to believe that time has passed so quickly.
Last night, I checked in on her before bed. There she was, my almost 8-year-old, sleeping peacefully. I knelt beside her, inhaling that unique scent that only our children have—the one that sets them apart from everyone else. Her beloved puppy, a gift from her first birthday, was tucked under her arm, and for a moment, I was reminded of her babyhood.
Everything looked so tiny: her little nose, hands, and lips. I traced her face in my mind, hoping I’d never forget that moment. It’s as if I woke up one day and she had transformed into a “big kid.” If you’re a parent, you understand that moment when it hits you—your baby is no longer a toddler, your toddler is no longer a little kid, and your little kid is now a big kid. And while I’m proud of her independence and growth, a part of me aches as time marches on, making her less reliant on me.
I took a photo in her dimly-lit room, the soft glow of the night-light illuminating her. I shed a few tears, feeling both joy and sadness. She will always be my baby, and as thrilled as I am to see her grow, I can’t help but feel nostalgic for the days when she needed me more.
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Summary
In reflecting on my daughter’s rapid growth from a baby to a big kid, I experience a mix of nostalgia and pride. Each small milestone reminds me of how quickly time passes and how my role as a parent evolves as she becomes more independent.