There is a feeling gnawing and growing inside me. It is tugging at me and retreating again. I can’t pin it down or hold it long enough to examine it. It is the a sense that things are on the verge of change.
I am changing. No.
They are changing. No.
We are changing.
My son was a babysitter tonight. The house was only a street away. I checked on him twice. He looked at me strangely both times I showed up at the door. I felt strange too. Why was my baby standing in the door of another home looking at me like I didn’t belong there?
Oh… probably because I didn’t.
These are my little people slipping away, sliding through my fingers. I’m holding on and letting go.
This is the tug and the pull. This is pride and fear. This is new and old. This is young and free.
This is how we grow.