The other morning my big girl lumbers into my room wrapped in her blanket and whines,
“Mom, I don’t feel good” As she climbs into the now vacant daddy’s side of my bed, and I smile.
I tell her, “That’s ok, honey just go ahead and close your eyes. We’ll decide what to do about that when you wake up.”
I get the little girls up, dressed and off to school and go back and nestle myself back under my covers. I go on about reading, writing blog posts and accomplishing some of the little things that one can do from the safety of their covers. Occasionally I glance over and see what used to be my baby on the far side of the bed, and I smile.
I sit, I work, I drag things out, I think about how rare it is becoming that we two are ever in the same room, let alone within arm’s reach anymore and I smile.
Soon, it passes; the child awakens, wraps herself tighter in her cocoon and shuffles off toward the hallway. “Where are you going?” I ask looking in her direction.
“To the kitchen…” She replies with such indignation and disdain dripping from her teenaged voice that can I just barely hear what I call the silent, in parentheses, *(“You Stupid B!tch”)* that I say follows most of her statements to me these days, and I smile.
I know in these moments I am no longer that mom. I am not her constant companion, her moral compass, the kisser of boo-boos, the fighter of battles, the protector, avenger, the motivator, the counselor, the master of her destiny. I am the *(“Stupid B!tch”)* who is struggling to let her learn how to be those things for herself. My big girl is fighting with everything she has got to learn how not to need me, I am so proud, it makes me smile.
