and how does a baby turn twenty-six when all you did was blink?

This was twenty years ago.  First tooth was missing and moments after this picture was taken you'd break your arm for the second time.

Five years ago when you turned twenty-one I wrote these words -

Words won't even come that seem powerful enough to express my thoughts at you turning twenty-one years old.

What makes this age so different?  You don't look different or act different.  The sun is still hot and the planets are still lined up.  Everything looks and feels the same.

Everything but me.

It's hard to describe.  It's almost a feeling of dread.  There is a heaviness in my heart that spreads into my arms when I think of today.  I physically feel it. 

Am I, for the very first time after twenty-one years of watching four children grow so rapidly before my eyes, just beginning to realize that I will never get any of that time back?  I know I've known this, I've even blogged about it - but I think it was only in my brain and tonight my heart is not taking the news so well.

Five years later and my heart's still not taking so well this growing up all of you are doing.  So.  Fast.

And today you turn twenty-six.  And you do look different.  You are carrying my first grandchild.  A baby girl and I know the moment I lay eyes on her I will be traveling in my mind back to a place and time that was the beginning of you.  You, my darlin'.  The beautiful baby girl born to your daddy and me.  

And these words I wrote are the same -

The first moment you were placed into my arms I felt a strange and powerful kind of love as I stared at you for the first time.  And I remember staring, for a long time - just staring.

You and I began to grow up together.  I seemed to know little more than you did.  And because of that you suffered many things.

And there's a heaviness in my arms - a longing to just hold you again. 

Just another chance to stare. 

Just another chance to say, Wow, I love you, baby girl.

Happy Birthday.

Love,
Mama