Tomorrow Emma turns 8. I don’t know what it is about 8 but 8 in my mind is the quintessential little girl age. All birthdays up until 8 are simply a build-up to 8. All birthdays after 8 are an upward (downward?) spiral to 13. Things start changing at 8 I think. You understand more about the world you’re in. You start having drama with your friends. You start paying attention to boys around you. You learn cursive. I don’t know, it seems like a big year.
Maybe because that’s the year we moved, I met my best friend Melissa and had my first boyfriend. For me, it was a big year. So 8 is just looming. I really don’t want Emma to turn 8. This is the part where I want time to slow down. Actually, just stop. The past 6 months or so as Emma and Lexi finish out 5 and 7 and make the turn towards 6 and 8 have been fantastic. I feel like we’ve left behind a lot of the mayhem of toddler and preschool-ville and we’re really settling in. This year I’ve hit my stride in the home and I know this is normal for a mom with elementary school kids. It’s the most freeing time of motherhood, if the Internets and books are to be believed. The next few years after this get yucky and tricky with training bras and boyfriends and “talks” that it’s just making me dig my heels into the ground and try to stop this little girl train we’re on. Pull the cord. Punch the brakes. Sound the alarm. Make it stop NOW.
I’m celebrating 8 because I’m so proud of her and I love this season she’s in but it’s just I think I remember way too much about 8 and how could I possibly have an 8 year old? How could Emma be 8? Wasn’t she just taking her first step in an apartment in Columbia?
Unfortunately there are no brakes and no alarms except the ones in my head. So I’m just hanging on for dear life and trying to enjoy each day as it comes. I suppose that’s all any of us can do.