I looked over and there she was, pushing her cart through the grocery store, acting as if she’d been doing it all her life, and while it was only a junior sized cart and while she never actually chose any of the items in it and while she was much too young to be pushing anything that happened to have a six pack of beer in it, she still looked so big, so utterly in control of the situation, so understanding of everything that was going on and the consequences of tipping over the cart or smashing the grapes or dropping the bottle of milk that it kind of made me sad.
Sad because my little girl is growing up.
And then, when we got home, I realized that Isaac is walking and he has a personality and he almost knows which way the spoon works. Meanwhile, Sierra is having real, two-sided conversations and making up intricate stories and developing a sense of humor that is amazingly aware of its own funniness.
Sad, yes. But also proud. Mostly proud. Absolutely proud, like I should be. Like I’m honored to be.
The sadness has nothing to do with what they’re doing. It’s 100% on me and my inability to accept change with the same grace that my kids do. Every single day.