conversing.

You press your fingers hard against your eyes.

Pushing the tears back.

Ten year old attempts at

Holding It All In.

Baby.

Daughter.

My sweet girl.

You do not need to resist The Tears.

The sadness.

The thick feeling in your throat

and the crumbly tearing at your heart.

Feel it.

Just feel it all.

Remember when we talked about growing up?

You listened.

Quietly.

Head nodding politely.

Grimace, grin, crinkly face you make

when my words

splash

into deep waters.

Now you say to me,

“Mommy – I think I’m having those things.”

I lock my mommy eyes onto your daughter eyes with sympathy and love.

“Those things.

The h- word.

Hormones?”

I smile at you.

Beautiful girl child

sitting on the precarious edge of 

Now and Then.

I remind myself to reach out –

because sometimes my body forgets to show you what my heart feels –

and I pat your back.

Touch your shoulder

and pull you to my side.

We’re practically eye-level these days.

I hug you.

“Yes.  The hormones,” I grin at you.

I can’t help it.

I’m just so blessed to have this conversation.

To be on this side of you talking.

I’m alive.

You’re alive.

We’ve made it this far.

“The hormones.  They’re so grown up,” I tell you.

You add, “And tricky.”

Yes.

They are.

Tricky.

And grown up.

It’s a combination that won’t be changing.