I have a new little buddy along on my walks.
Somehow I still have firmly fixed in my mind the notion that my Youngest is still around 3 years old. Part of me just mentally won't let go of that baby.
But the more I'm confronted with size 7 clothing, size Child 12 shoes, and the desire to do her own hair, it's beginning to sink in that maybe this little one is, after all growing up.
Six years old. Something rattled around distantly at the edges of my brain. Isn't there some skill that's supposed to be acquired around this age?
Ah, yes, the Riding-of-the-Bike.
The hand-me-down bike was pulled out and rescued from total collapse by Middle Son. Training wheels were wrenched on. The seat was adjusted. And Youngest Daughter climbed on.
Yes, this should have probably started around age 5. Her feet trailed the ground.
More adjusting of the seat.
And she was off.
A little tippy. A little wobbly. A little stressed at every crack, line and bump on the road.
I see you there riding off away from me, Youngest Daughter. Don't you think I don't.
I see you pedalling fast, proud to do big girl things. I see you turning that corner.
Don't you forget you're only 6! Don't you be getting any big, independent ideas.
Don't you forget you're my baby.