We chatted about how great it is that some of her best friends from last year are going to be in her class this year. A boy she thinks is cute, one she might marry, and two of her very best girlfriends, one who lives very close to us, and the other who teaches her words in Japanese. Her excitement for the school year to start is electric.
We sat in the parked car, I turned off the engine but the radio still played. She asked if she could unbuckle. It amazes me that she is capable of doing that herself. I said sure, and she unbuckled and propped her elbows between the front seats.
"Turn the radio up, Mom!" she squealed as one of her favorite songs came on the radio. I obliged, of course.
We sang together, me and her, as loud as we could. She let me be in the moment with her, something that I've noticed she's been stepping away from lately. She didn't ask me to stop, she just leaned on my shoulder, pressed her cheek to mine, and sang with me. We danced, her blonde wavy hair bouncing to the beat of the music. I secretly prayed for the song to be longer.
I didn't want this moment to end.
But it did. And it was okay. She kissed me on the cheek and said, "I love you, Mom." I knew that she felt the same way as I did in that exact moment.
She's becoming this incredible little person. She's not a baby anymore. She's a kid. And I'm not exactly sure when that happened, nor am I sure how I feel about it. Each age and stage has been more exciting than the last, but I don't want to rush it, I want to live it with her. While she still allows me to do so.