Juliana started high school last week. She is turning 14 years old on the 26th of this month. Ava performed with her band all over town this summer and is starting her last year of elementary school after Labor Day. I feel like I should have been blogging about these events but every time I sit down and try to gather my thoughts about my girls growing up I get completely tongue-tied.
Of course I realize they’ve been growing up for a while. Ever since they were born, right? Something about this past year though- even this past summer- has left me reeling like a pinball, bouncing around from emotion to emotion, unable to get a good grasp on how I’m feeling. Is it sadness? Is it pride? A mixture of both?
When I’m out with the girls and we see babies or toddlers with their parents I often tell them stories about things they did when they were that particular age. Everything triggers a memory about them lately and I’ll start rambling about the funny words they used to say or certain places we used to go together. Don’t even get me started about Throwback Thursday (#tbt) on Instagram. Every time I post an old photo of the girls and do the math figuring out just how long ago it was it sends me reeling. How can it be 9 years ago that I put Juliana on the bus to kindergarten? Images of Ava with her ringlets of curls in 2005 feel like they literally just happened.
At 22 years old, I started having kids way before most of my friends. I lived a different life than most people my age during that time but I always loved it. I was always "Tracey with the 2 little girls." These days I know so many new parents- either with super young kids or in the process of trying to start a family. I find myself on the outside again having children that could be their babysitters. At (almost) 11 and 14 years old my girls are actually closer to being adults than they are to being babies. I'm so proud of them, and even though I know the road from here to 18 years old is still long and filled with god-knows-what before Jason and I retire somewhere on the English Countryside, I sometimes miss the days of chubby cheeks, sweet-smelling hair, and tiny little voices.
My mind knows that they are growing up but in my heart I still feel like “Tracey with the 2 little girls.”
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