She's growing up too fast

I remember that in the tired days of her infancy, I would bounce back and forth between wanting her to stay small and completely dependant upon me for the rest of her life and wanting her to come on and grow some already so I can do things with you. I love doing things with her and spending time with her more than anything on this earth. But there is no bouncing back and forth anymore. I just want her stay small and dependant on me for the rest of her life. She's growing up way too fast for me and it sets me in a tailspin at times.

She has opinions galore and tells me at least 2,479,363 times a day that she's a "big girl" now. She doesn't want my help and strongly believes that she does not need it, ever.

On the way to gymnastics Saturday, I told her that I would be helping her. She promptly told me that she didn't need my help. I told her all of the mommies would be helping. Her response, "those kids need help, I don't!" I'm guessing that this does not bode well for our future teen years. I know I won't be anymore ready for her independence then than I am now. It is going to be a struggle.

One of the most beautiful things I have witnessed is watching her find herself as an individual and blossom into the incredible child that stands before me now. It is also one of the hardest things I have had to endure because the more she grows, the less she needs me in a sense.

Maybe it wouldn't be so hard if she weren't so adamant about spreading her little wings and exerting so much independence all at once. If she weren't so resistant to my attempts to keep her closer.

Or, if her father weren't so damned persistent in trying to make her "Daddy's Girl" and more dependent on him. That one right there ... that stings at times. I have never entertained the notion that she would ever be anything other than "Mommy's Girl." Yet, the minute she is mad at me over the slightest little thing, she wants her Daddy! As much as I love seeing them together and watching their bond grow now that he is home, those particular occasions when she prefers him over me makes me wish that I had went ahead in my twenties and ordered the "popsicle pop" I had so often thought of because I didn't need a man in my life to be a mother.

I didn't do so though, and now I have to share her. He comforts her when she is mad at or upset with me. He helps her do things when Mommy is too busy to be there every single second of the day. He carries her Easter basket for her so she can search for her treasures without the hindrance of dragging the blasted thing around. And he loves her. A popsicle pop couldn't do that.

In the end, she still looks to me when she's happy and wants to celebrate her achievements. She looks to me for comfort when she needs it. She comes to me for hugs, kisses and a refill of her sippy cup. This motherhood gig is harder than I ever thought it would be. It also offers all of the rewards that I knew would be there and more. Being a mother has defined who I am and I embrace it, and her, with all of my heart.