Tomorrow Elsa will be three.

I know I’m supposed to say I can’t believe it, but I can.

I have always been a little annoyed when people tell me that the time will fly with my girl.  That this parenting experience is fleeting.  That it is a gift – and that I better not blink because I’ll miss it.

As if I could miss it.

I mean, yeah – it happens at times… all of a sudden a behavior changes (she says “thank you” without being prompted!), or a milestone is reached (big-girl bed! potty trained!), and it becomes obvious that the whole thing is happening whether I’m ready or not. And it’s going to keep on going – this relentless march toward a fully-developed person and, ultimately, independence from me.

Luckily, we’re not even close to that yet.

And in the meantime, I am soaking in the amazing little person that she is.

Maybe it’s because I have lost people I love, much too soon.   I know what it’s like to wish desperately for just one more moment, one more conversation, the chance to say I love you, the chance to sear into my memory the look of happiness on that person’s face.   That kind of thing makes a mark on one’s heart – and, in my case anyway, helps me remember in a very visceral way that today is all I’ve got for sure.

Not that all the moments of our little life together life are idyllic, of course. There are days – or weeks – of sleep deprivation (especially lately, though the tide is starting to turn). There are trials of patience. There are truly epic tests of will. There are tantrums bordering on ridiculous.

Mostly though, there is singing in the morning when she first wakes up.

There are spontaneous hugs and kisses.

There is a fierce independent streak matched only by the fierceness of her connection to, and desire to be with, the people in her tribe.  This is the perfect balance that I’ve been trying to achieve for (mumblety-something) years – and she just comes by it naturally.

There is energy and enthusiasm and a joie de vivre that is hard to describe – you just have to witness to believe it.

There is lots and lots of laughter.  Hers, yes – but also mine.  Elsa cracks me up daily, sometimes hourly.

There are very strong opinions on what to wear.

There is dancing and skipping and stomping.

And, I am here, soaking it all in.

I do feel like I’m in the moment with Elsa – I am not going to miss it.  And that is the biggest gift of all.

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