This is the end of my fourth summer with Wee One. She’s growing up. Just like everyone promised, it happened too fast and did not come soon enough.
A memory I wish to save about putting Wee One to bed on night.
The tag line on this blog is “I write to stop time,” and as I get older, I find I want to stop time more and more. (Actually, I don’t know if that’s true. There were moments I loved and wanted to hold onto when I was younger. Of course, I destroyed all my journals from before the accident and those are the memories I don’t have.)
I have to begin letting go.
Right now, Wee One is in a phase when she tells me, “You need me!” which means, “I need you,” or “I want you here with me.”
I used to say that to my mom. I would say, “I wanna hold you.”
The most amazing wonderful thing happened with Wee One this morning.
I learned the most wonderful thing yesterday. As if I could not love her any more, The Emma Thompson, Dame Emma Thompson, The Amazing Emma Thompson, wrote her tween daughter a sex guide.
One day while E.C. was planning a small baby caper
She felt something odd in her diaper di diaper.
This past summer, I signed Wee One up for swimming lessons. Just six weeks at the community center, I wanted her to learn some respect for the water when she’s around it.
It was the first time she’d taken a formal-ish “class,” and I had some concerns. And other thoughts. Here’s a sampling of my second week’s thoughts: