WTF. I don’t know why I feel like there’s such a huge leap between 6 and 7, but 6 is still a little girl. Seven isn’t. I jokingly chastised her this morning that I had told her, in no uncertain terms, was she to continue growing up (I’ve been joking about this for years) and her quick response was, “I don’t ever listen to you anyway.” Oh there’s a glimpse into the future if ever there was one.
She was a poodle last night for Halloween. She couldn’t have looked any cuter. The “cute” costume days are numbered now, if not already gone. She uttered yesterday afternoon that she thought she might look silly as a poodle. And so it starts already – worrying about what other people think, worrying about what strangers will think of her and how she looks.
Seven. 7. SEVEN!
Such a small number but it feels like a loaded number. The official end of her “smallie” era and the beginning of ” regular kid” phase. Hold me.
Every year, on the kids’ birthdays, I write them a letter. I tell them about their year, the things they like, highlights of the year, major milestones and how much they are loved. Every year, the date of my letters are becoming less exact as the years get busier and busier. So it’s time to carve out an hour today and get my girl’s letter done. Because over this past weekend, she turned into a 6-year-old.
The Ragged Mommy 