top of page
  • faithfullyfailingh

Watching her grow has been my favorite.

I hear phrases like:

“I wish I could stop time.”

“If babies would keep a little longer.”

I understand the sentiment. Sometimes I look back at her baby pictures and I become teary eyed realizing time does pass so fast, but watching her grow has been my favorite.

I remember seeing little girls at church when she was a baby, I’d daydream about what she would look like when she was their age. I’d imagine her features and what our relationship would be like when she was older.

As I pushed her in a stroller I would watch moms and their daughters hold hands joyfully walking together, I would watch them play and I would day dream about getting to that stage and how fun it would be. Even though I loved her baby face and all the coos and cuddles, I was excited to watch her grow.

I was excited to pass from baby to toddler. I didn’t experience any sadness like I hear from other moms. I was excited to have play dates at the park, to push her in a swing, chase her in the yard, and play make believe. I was excited for tea parties and cookie dates. I was excited to exchange rocking chairs and bottles for reading stories and cuddles.

I was excited to watch her grow.

I was excited to watch her pass from toddler to preschooler. No longer would I push her swing, but now we could swing side by side—laughing until our legs were tired from pumping as high as we could make the swings fly. I loved watching her find friends, carefully choosing who to give her heart. I loved watching her learn to read and count. I loved watching her take in the world around her—trying to figure out how she fits in this time and space.

I was excited to watch her grow.

From preschool to kindergarten has been a beauty to unfold. She no longer needs a step stool to reach the sink, the last of her bouncy blonde curls are gone and she is now a silky brunette. When I sit she is taller than I can reach to brush her hair. She says she wants to be a mommy and a teacher when she grows up, she says when she’s big she wants to marry a man who can sing like daddy. She has a heart full of compassion and she often seems wise beyond her years. She needs me for less and less each day—I watch her in awe, she can dress herself, prepare her own snacks, and now she can read me a bedtime story. She talks to me about Jesus and how to be like Him. I watch her pray for others, I see her worry and I see her love. I see her becoming her own person and it is a beautiful sight.

It has been my favorite to watch her grow.

1 view0 comments

Recent Posts

See All


bottom of page