I’ve been shopping for you in the children’s section forever, for your whole life. You were size 14 for so long and size 16 seemed so big, impossibly big (I imagined teenagers wore that size--girls much older than you). Then suddenly it fit you and now four months later, it doesn’t. This telescoping Alice act of yours scares me a bit (there is no tiny bottle with a drink me label is there?).
I know that this astonishing growth will continue for the next couple of years. And I will adore you madly, all pointy elbows and jutting knees, just as I did when you fit snugly in my arms.
I will relish your healthy appetite; beam when you take seconds.
I will let you wear my shoes and clothes.
But I know we crossed a border, when we entered the junoir section with the same slouchy neon t-shirts that were in fashion when I was your age.
You asked me the other day if I would rather be able to rewind or fast forward life. This, my dear is the difference between adults and children.
I know we are in some new territory. A land where you seem more sure than me; the land of fast-forward.