The girls are getting bigger. Bigger in the sense of oh-my-god-are-their-feet-growing-by-the-minute and getting bigger with regard to how very much they understand. Disagreeing sparks unfamiliar nuance, a furrowed brow a trembling lip or a sudden scrambling for attention. WE are paying heed, but just as we think we get it, something new emerges.


“Yes, baby?” I say as I examine an eyebrow.

“Are you almost done, I’d like a little private time for potty.” Blue eyes as pure as the summer sky await my response.

Shocked, I nod and scurry out of the room.

There is role playing with, “I now declare thee husband and wife,” and “well, I’d like to, but I have to work.”

Hey there, cat’s in the cradle.

I am trying to grasp how three burgeoning bumps have manifested into three gangly girls, all opinion and puppy dog eyes. I see how quickly they are gaining us, their speed, questing and size all threatening to eclipse us as we struggle to manage the details, emotions and appointments.

I try not to superimpose the idea of pregnancy, but I realize how little they’ll still be as they fall in love, move away and start families. My greatest fear is that for each inch and ability they grow, so does their space in my heart. I cannot fathom how, when they finally fledge, I’ll survive it upright.