Dear Diary

I’m losing her.

It was so easy when I could dress her in a demure romper, secure two tiny pigtails, snuggle her on my lap with her white blankie and read Eric Carle books all morning. I dictated how she would spend her time whether it was napping, sitting on the counter as my cookie dough apprentice/chocolate chip adder, or being shoved in a cart with some popcorn while I whittled the day away at Target. She liked everything I liked. I had a sweet, submissive Mini Me that lived for nothing more than a tube of mini M&Ms. Our lives had a wonderful absence of school bells and permission slips and science projects. I was her only friend.

No more. She is particular about everything: her fashion, her hair, her room, her books, her spare time. She is a social butterfly that flits to the land of Boycrazy several times a day. I feel like I’m only needed for transportation or to tie the bow on the back of her Sunday dress.

I have been struggling with this new reality of being lower on her totem pole than I’ve ever been. I know the whole point of raising kids is to create moral, independent characters that can handle the world on their own. She shouldn’t need me forever because I won’t be here forever. I just didn’t think I’d feel extinct this quickly. Elizabeth Stone said having a child is like having your heart go walking around outside your body. That's exactly how I feel. My heart is her. I can't live without my heart. It hurts when that heart I need is far away.

How to bridge the gap? How to prove that I count? How to be at her side without helicoptering?

My old journals.

I gave her my fourteen old journals. She found the one from 1987-88 where I am her age. She walks around with it, laughing and repeating what I wrote in her silly voice. Apparently I wrote about Josh McGary a lot. Like every day. According to my words I so foolishly etched in pen I wanted to cuddle with him during tornado drills and even referred to him as (shoot me now, I cringe just to type this) "lovable" and "sexy.” She reads me my old scribbles and just as I am beginning to wish I had burned them when I had the chance she pauses, “Mom...you were JUST like me.”

My continuing embarrassment has been worth the breakthrough of her realizing I am not only human but that I am linked to her in ways she never knew. I am more than the annoyance that tells her to feed the dog and show her work in math.

In the wee hours of this morning she crawled under my covers in footie pajamas and pulled my arms around her. She’s almost as long as I am. She should end up close to my 5'10" in the six years she has left under our roof. I have already offered my wedding dress to her since the length shouldn’t need altering. I know I'm being dramatic but footie pajamas are my kryptonite. Wear footies and I love you. It's that simple. While embracing my fleece-footed alternate heart I suppressed the knot in my throat and defiantly reminded myself, once again, I am not ready to let her go.

I’ll end up losing her, but she will never lose me.

*To be truthful, I do remember why I fell for Josh McGary. We were playing kickball as a class and I was running to home plate when Mann Brown tripped me and I got blacktop gravel under my skin. Josh ran over and threatened to beat Mann up. Then we all went to the office, me for an ice pack and the boys for discipline. I guess I'm a sucker not only for footie pajamas but also for my honor being defended during kickball.