Our little girl turned 5 last Saturday.
That’s half a decade old. That is ridiculous.
I look at her, and she’s gorgeous and she makes my heart smile. But sometimes, there’s a particular kind of terror that grips my heart because she’s growing up so quickly. When it was just her and only her, we could note every little difference. We relished each new word learnt, each new concept grasped. But now that we are Four, there are days I feel I miss whole chunks, whole spaces of time where I can look at my firstborn and really see her. The missing of minute changes and whispers of growing. The realisation sometimes stops me in my tracks like a heart twinge.
She is worth drinking in and getting to know. She is funny and kind and obedient. She draws great chocolate cakes. Her sensitivity to criticism is the same sensitivity to someone else’s plight. She feels deeply, loves unreservedly, and acts without guile. She is still an innocent. There is very little hardness of heart. I understand why Jesus pointed out to girls like her and suggested that grown-ups could learn a thing or three from them.
She is our Arddun.