No More Little Girls

Things are so strange right now. My girls are “big kids” now, so they don’t need me as much. They want their space. They’re making their own decisions and becoming independent little humans. I’m so proud of them of course but it’s the most bittersweet. I don’t have any little girls anymore, but I should.

I miss her clumsy little feet running through the house. And her voice that sounded so much like Tommy Pickles. I miss watching her take her time with whatever she was doing because she was never in too big a hurry to not notice everything around her. I miss doing her hair in whatever hairstyles I’d found on Instagram, and she would love it every time. I miss having a buddy to paint fingers and toes with. I miss my most creative outdoor adventurer. I miss my little energy ball who I’d watch play for hours. I miss my number 1 snuggle bug.

My sweet “big girls” are growing so much, and I’m so thankful for that. I have my little dude and though Jude died before his 3rd birthday, she played with him the most, and I’m eternally grateful that so much of her personality rubbed off onto him, even now as he closes in on turning her age. It’s just odd not having little bitty girls who need me anymore. It’s all I’ve known for a decade. This is a normal part of parenthood for the most part, but damn, I shouldn’t be going through it yet. I am grieving the little ones I had as they grow faster and faster, while grieving the one I lost. I should have a 7 year old, but instead I have a forever 5 year old and I can’t be with her aside from in my memories.
I know this post is probably a mess. It’s fine with me. I just miss my little babies and the hole in my heart where she belongs is aching a little extra today.

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