so big

Penelope will be five months old next week. Five months old. She's flying through milestones: rolling over, sitting up, cutting teeth, reaching for everything.

I can barely keep up with my growing girl.

And so I'm discovering this tension inherent in mothering: the eagerness for your child to grow up -- mixed with small twinges of grief at how fast it's going.

As a child, do you remember all the adults in your life remarking about "how big you are" and saying "you're growing up so fast." I thought this was just the kind of thing grandmothers and aunts are obligated to say. But it turns out that it feels very true. When I look at Pen right now, all I can think is: She is so big. She is growing up so fast.

The other day, she had her first taste of rice cereal. And this girl. This girl of mine loved it -- devoured it with pure, curious joy. We gushed over her, celebrating her milestone. And even as I was spooning cereal into her small (perfect) mouth, I felt a pang, almost undetectable. The tiniest whisper of remorse. Somewhere in me, the quietest thought: stay small (stay small).

This same thought can be heard in her room at bedtime, when I'm rocking her to sleep, with the night light casting us in warm yellow glow. And she is curled up entirely around me, her nose tucked into the crook of my elbow, small hand on my chest. Sleepy, sleepy.

I hear it then too: stay small (stay small).

But of course, it's not really true.

I'm her mother, and it's ingrained in me to grow this girl up, to raise her. It's just. It's just going quickly. And it's oh so much letting go. That's what it is.