I act happy. But I'm not.
I sound excited. But I'm not.
I say that I'm ready to. But I'm not.
I say that it's indeed time. But for me, it's not.
The tears I try to choke back and hide lay beneath the surface. Like a raging water fall. It feels like the first time all over again. In what seems like the not-too-distant past.
She is growing up. I can't stop it.
She is maturing. I can't stop it.
Before I know it, she will be out in the vast world on her own. Not too many years left. And the years that are bygone, as are the ones to come, have passed or will pass as a thief in the night, all too quickly.
Now, Middle School years are upon us. She is no longer a little girl. Not yet a "young woman", but caught in the middle.
The smile, chuckles and the silly exclamations from me are just a facade. My way of coping with the realities of life as a mother to a girl who is growing rapidly before my eyes.
Inside, I rage. My heart hurts. I wonder if so far I have REALLY given it my all to her, and indeed gave her the tools she will need for the next chapter of her life.
In the end though, I can't let her go. I'm not ready.