Stay little, my dear.
I whisper it as I watch you. Digging in the sand. Laughing in the sunshine. No longer a baby. But not yet a school-aged kid.
Stay little, my dear.
I think, hoping the universe will hear me. Hoping that somehow, perhaps, time will halt.
Stay little, my dear.
My mind churns out as I sit and see the innocence of childhood playing out.
Stay little, my dear.
I say as you walk away from me. To school. With a backpack bigger than you in tow.
Stay little, my dear.
I think as you sit at the counter and tell me about your day. And I realize you will be bigger tomorrow. And then, the next day, bigger again.
Stay little, my dear.
When you hug me tight before you walk out the door and I wonder how much longer you will initiate our hugs.
Stay little, my dear.
My heart beats as you talk about “that girl” and I wonder how we are already here.
Stay little, my dear.
I say to the skies as I watch you kicking the ball, your big kid legs stretched out in front of you.
Stay little, my dear.
I think as you come home with a backpack, now smaller than your back. Filled with homework. Filled with dreams.
Stay little, my dear.
I remind you as you leave for school. The one in another place. The one where you will have your own world. As I watch you go. And then you come back for one last squeeze.
Stay little, my dear.
I pray for you at night. In hopes that you will always carry with you, the magic of childhood and the simplicity of the little years. The little joys. The little moments. Because the little things, my sweet child, they are the biggest of all.
Stay little, my dear.
You will grow up. But please, my dear, stay little . . . just a little.
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