For these precious and fleeting few years of her life, I am my daughter’s best friend.
The one who makes her eyes light up. The one she turns to for everything.
But I know it won’t last too much longer.
Someday, she’ll find a new best friend.
That’s who she’ll ask to play Barbies. That’s who she’ll invite to her tea parties. That’s who will wear the other half of her heart, dangling on a sweet silver chain. That’s who she’ll want to hold hands with outside, as they skip off toward adventure.
Over the years, her best friends will be the ones she’ll turn to in the hardest moments. They’ll listen to her, and cry with her, and laugh at the inside jokes and the memories they share together.
Her best friends will be there as she gushes over her crushes. They’ll lay on the floor in her bedroom, feet in the air, doodling names, looking at phones, belting out the newest music . . . from bands that I won’t know. They’ll pick her up from practice, sit next to her in the stadium on Friday nights, and run lines with her on stage.
They’ll be the ones who know her best. They’ll almost be her everything.
And I’ll have to take the back seat.
That’s the way it’s supposed to be, and I love that for my daughter.
So I will be here, waiting. And maybe, just maybe, if I’m lucky enough . . . she’ll turn back to smile at her mama. We’ll share our stories with each other. We’ll dust off our microphones and jam to the songs we thought were long forgotten.
We’ll find each other again. And she’ll be more than my best friend.
Let’s be real . . .
Why would I wear a heart on a chain?
My heart is here beside me.
And when I let her go,