The hair is the same shade of golden blonde. It’s thick and straight and won’t hold a curl for nothing. The eyes are the same color, blue on some days, grey on others. The smooth upward curve of her nose is all mine. Her lips, plump and full, are pale pink. Me too. We share the same pointed chin, the same ears, the same hands, feet and toes. She is often called “mini-me.” Two pictures, one older, one newer, side by side, two 5 year olds. Almost identical and yet definitely not the same person. I love that she looks like me. I love that she acts like I do, uses the same words that I use. She even walks like I do and if something catches her attention, she’ll pause mid-step and stand with her hands on her hips, thumbs forward, fingers splayed towards her backside. Me too. The first time I saw her stand like me, I was nearly bowled over. My girl.
She sits in the back seat of the car singing at the top of her voice. She never gets the words right but that doesn’t bother her in the least. She’s happy just to hear her own voice. But she’s shy and will instantly clasp her hands over her mouth, hiding a smile that’s about to burst if I turn the rear view mirror down so I can see her. Her first-grader toothless grin never fails to bring me to my knees. I always want to see her smiling. When we’re alone, she grabs a brush and some ponytail holders. She brings them to me and asks me, “Momma, will you braid my hair?” “Sure baby, climb up in my lap.”
I love how her mind works. She’ll ask the same question about the same subject every day, but will twist it just a bit to see if Momma will answer it the same or make something up. She’s clever and will pretend to be asleep some mornings when I go to wake her up just so she can slip a hand under my arm for a little tickle. Me too. She hates wearing shoes outside. She wants to get dirty and feel the blades of grass between her toes. She thinks it’s hysterical that she can go topless out back in the summer time, secured by the privacy of our fenced yard. She thinks it’s hysterical that I do the same. Me too.
She worries too much about things beyond her control (me too). She wants to always know everything about everyone on everyday at all times. She likes to boss her little brother. She wants to be a tomboy because she thinks it’s “cool” but she can’t let go of the girly girl life. Pink nail polish, glittery body powder, perfume, potions, and lotions.
It’s all happening so fast, this business of growing up, for both of us. She just wants to get older and bigger. I just want to grab her and hold on to her and not let her change one bit. I want these days, the moments of joy and wonder and awe to be caught in a freeze frame. I want to remember forever what it’s like right here, right now. I want to remember the smiles and the laughing, when she laughs so hard she snorts. I want to always remember the sharpness of our days. I don’t want them to fade away. I don’t want her to ever hurt or be sad.