Nine is a tenuous age–she walks a tightrope between the play of a child and the poise of a teen. I see glimpses of the baby she used to be more and more rarely, mostly while she is sleeping. The roundness comes back to her cheeks and the silken hair tangles softly around her face. When awake, she is in constant movement. Dance, gymnastics, and friends take up most of her time. So I’m holding tight to nine.
Nine is where she still wants to cuddle in bed at night and talk about her day. Friend troubles, burgeoning crushes, worries about school. She still holds my hand sometimes when out in public and loves to spend time with me. “Mom, can we do something together?” But more and more, the phrase, “Don’t embarrass me!” keeps creeping in. I know that soon, she’ll start pulling away and not want to be seen with me. She already races out of the house the moment a friend asks to play. So I’m holding tight to nine.
Nine is a time of highs and lows that swing back and forth like a pendulum. Highs involve dance classes, time with friends, and ice cream. She loves to travel and could live at the beach. Lows now come from friend drama, homework, and nerves about recitals. The loss of a pet hits extra hard now. The lows don’t stay too long though, before the pendulum swings, and her giggles echo through the house. So I’m holding tight to nine.
Nine is an age of flying arms and legs. Watching the grace of a teen start to emerge between the wobbles of a child. Each day she improves at something. Jumping higher, skating faster, running longer. She’ll practice gymnastics forever out in the yard without a break. But afterward, she still begs for lemonade and to sit and chill with me. So I’m holding tight to nine.
But ten? Ten seems so big. Double digits and bigger changes. Cell phones, puberty, more responsibility. Already I see the shift. Wanting more independence. “I can do it myself!” comes out more often. I keep doing things for her because I’ve done it for so many years. And she gets frustrated that I’m babying her too much. So I’m holding tight to nine.
We’re counting down the months until ten. It’s already fewer than I would prefer. She doesn’t want a big party this year but would prefer something with just her besties, followed by a sleepover. The birthday and Christmas wish lists keep shrinking–fewer toys and more big items. But she’s saving up her allowance to buy a special American Girl doll. So I’m holding tight to nine.
As each day passes and she gains a bit more poise and confidence, I’ll keep searching for glimpses of the baby she once was. But I also don’t want to miss a single moment of where we are now. The hugs and snuggles, the laughter and adventures fill my days with joy. So for now, I’m holding tight to nine.
