By Crystal Fulmer 
A memory popped up on my phone the other day. There she was in the photo. Five, maybe six. It was a hot summer day. She had just dumped a cold cup of water on her head. That cup still sat atop her head with the help of her right hand while her left held her jutted-out hip firmly in place.
She wore the silliest mean face. She had never been a “princess” as a young girl. She’d always been more of a train wreck on roller skates, and I so loved that about her. I giggled out loud to myself. Then I sighed.
I remembered the dance she attended recently and the beautiful pictures that were taken. That little girl who’d always been the shortest on her sports team now towered above me, at 13. Her figure, once chunky and sassy, was now elegant, slender, and graceful. Her short, blue-satin dress with long sleeves fit her like a glove, and she had done her own hair beautifully. I laughed again as I thought about all the years she had avoided dresses and hairstyles at all costs.
I took the two photos and situated them side by side in one of my apps. I texted the finished product to my daughter’s phone with the words, “Wow, what a glow-up!” Of course, she laughed as well, and then promptly threatened my life if I shared the masterpiece I created with anyone else.
Boy, she was as beautiful then as she is now, but almost an entirely different human, with only the most incredible parts of that little girl remaining. Although I’m all for my kids growing up and I believe in time moving forward and that the best is always yet to come, part of me will always mourn the loss of that tiny, loving, yet strong, bull-headed goofball. I’ll miss her hand in mine and all the sweet lap cuddles she gave (although these both still occur).
No matter how proud I am of her today—and I am very proud—glow-ups will always weigh heavy on this momma’s heart.
by Jenny Albers 
by Angela Hampton 
