On the 26th of December N turned four. I’ve noticed it with both children, something big happens at four. Something shifts. I’ve been staring at this photograph wondering how I managed to get a photo at all of a girl that is usually nothing short of a luminous whirlwind. I’m not sure I’ve managed to capture the contemplative intimacy in this quiet moment either.
This push and pull of parenting, bonding and connecting while simultaneously learning to let go, even just a little. Sometimes it feels like we’re all on a teeter totter, delicately shifting our intentions along with their weight forward and back, balancing our children’s needs with our own hopes and our fears.
She is four. This girl that still climbs into our bed at night, each time a bit closer to morning. I respond to each request of “Mama, snuggle me.” with “Yes.” and hold her close. I know this time is fleeting and these moments are already becoming less frequent. We can’t stop time, but I secretly wish I could bottle the smell of her hair, or find a way to always keep with me the feeling of her small soft hand in mine. Slowly, yet suddenly, she is four. And we can’t stop time. Not even with a camera.