The little girl is another year older. I’ve asked her to slow down. But the years just keep rolling. She’s a cat’s whisker away from turning eight. The party is tomorrow after school.
She is no longer in awe of Cinderella. Belle’s talking teapot has lost its charm and the colour pink doesn’t hold the same appeal as it once did. Several days ago we took the fairy dress-up garb to the charity shop, along with a heap of dishevelled grinning Barbie dolls. The Ladybird books are next to go. She’s now reading books without pictures. It’s all just part of life’s perpetual ebb and flow, the constant inconstant.
As her 8th birthday comes and goes it will fade into a cosy, warm nostalgic memory. And the consolation is that I will hopefully see her blow the candles of many more cakes for the duration of my being. There will always be beautiful memories to make and keep as we both clock up the digits. Memories that will stay perfectly framed in my mind, unchanged and constant, for always.
Sometimes you will never know the value of a moment until it becomes a memory – Dr Seuss
turning one
turning five
turning six
turning seven
“And the consolation is that I will hopefully see her blow the candles of many more cakes for the duration of my being.” Yes. Yes yes yes.
Yes to that!