Five years . . .

As I sit here and think about the significance of tomorrow, it hits me like a ton of bricks that tonight is just as momentous! Five years ago tonight, I was at the hospital, dreading every contraction and praying things would not get any worse. For the record, I had the easiest labor on earth. But it seemed bad at the time.

My baby will be five tomorrow. I never thought I'd be a parent who choked up at such a thought. But I am.

Those pictures of my precious baby four years ago . . . three years ago . . . two years ago . . .

Where did the time go?

Why did I spend so much of it worrying about stupid little things? Missing the big ones? Neglecting the cuddles and tickles and giggles?

It's never hit me quite as hard as it's hit me tonight.

Last night, Daddy took her to a play. Hamlet, to be exact. Now, to be fair, I reasonably expected I'd have at least another five years before Daddy was hauling my daughter off to Shakespearian tragedies. But he didn't have to drag her. She went so willingly, and understood so much. People gathered around her to admire this tiny little girl who was loving seeing all of the actors after the performance. The actors themselves got down on their knees all around her to talk with her. And she very sweetly thanked each one for his or her performance. She particularly liked the rather dashing young man who played Hamlet, and who very kindly signed her Great Classics Illustrated version of Hamlet, which her daddy had brought with him so she could follow along.

My baby is so big.

The other night, while Daddy was reading Hamlet, he asked her who would be king if Claudius weren't. "Old Hamlet," she replied. Daddy acknowledged her point but reminded her that he was dead, which was why Claudius was king. He asked the question again. "But Daddy," she protested, "Old Hamlet wouldn't BE dead if Claudius weren't around."

How did this happen?

As each child is coming along and going through the stages of their little lives, the stages are more painful, in a good "you're growing up and I'm proud of you but I'll miss my tiny baby" sort of way. I cried the other day when I put the tiniest baby's bouncy seat in the basement in favor of her Exersaucer. Perhaps I ought to blame hormones for something that silly, but I don't.

Five years ago tonight . . .

To think I had no idea whom I would meet. We didn't even know if she would be a he or a she! We certainly had no idea of the lung capacity she would have. Or the sheer stamina. We had no idea how difficult it would be to get her to stop shrieking.

Or how beautiful it would be when we did.

And now she is our big girl. Kindergarten in the fall. Dresses and dancing lessons and reading and all of the signs of a growing girl. All of those landmarks I couldn't wait for when I was pregnant, and when she was a fractious, shrieking infant. And though I don't miss the fractious times, I so desperately miss the tiny times.

I love you, my beautiful baby girl. I love you more than you could ever know, and I always will.