I blinked

The nine year old doesn’t want a pink backpack anymore. “Black, or blue,” Mon declares are her favourite colours; the same girl who, until last year, wanted matching unicorn bags and lunch boxes and made googly eyes at anything shiny and glittery, specially if there were sequins involved. Each morning, she sticks her journal and pen (“This is not for you to read, Mamma”) in her black Adidas bag, shoves in her black water bottle, puts on her black shoes, and is out of the house before I can hug or kiss her goodbye. Sometimes I demand that she come back to give me a kiss. More often than not, I let her leave with a “I love you!” yelled to her back. In a few months’ time she will turn ten. TEN. In the words of best friend Audrey, “I refuse to believe this. I reject your reality and would love to replace it with mine, please.” Same, Audrey. Same.

It’s not just the fact that she doesn’t like pink anymore. I see it everywhere. I see it in how she takes charge when she is with her younger sister. When both of them are in the playground and Momo, the three year old, is clumsily climbing on the bars and I rush towards her “just in case”, it is Mon who tells me very calmly, “It’s okay Mamma. She’s done it before. You don’t have to hold her.” Sometimes, there are other younger kids playing there, and I see Mon taking everyone under her wing, making them laugh, making up games. The other morning as the husband and I had coffee at our regular Starbucks – the one which gives us a view of the same playground – I saw another little girl standing right next to Momo as Mon did one of her “Whooops I am falling down” act to make them laugh. What I really noticed though, was the way Momo was laughing and looking at her new friend to make sure she was laughing too, almost as if saying, “Do you find my sister funny too? Isn’t she really cool?” I see it in the way Mon insists on changing Momo’s clothes and diaper and categorically refuses my help. I also see it in the fact that Momo wants her Baba – that’s what she calls her sister – to sit next to her in the cab, or in the flight, or even at restaurants. I particularly see it on days when the husband and I get to enjoy lunch at peace, secured in the knowledge that Mon is taking care of Momo and both of them are playing quietly by themselves.

It is obvious. The signs are everywhere. My little Miss Munchkin has grown up. In the blink of an eye too.

I no longer shop for her clothes because she will not be persuaded to wear anything she doesn’t like. Strappy dresses? No, thank you. Frilly ones? No, can’t run in them. Crop tops? Heavens, no. Indian wear? Only if it is a comfy kurta that is easy to run in. She has vehement opinions about how she wants her hair (“Don’t you dare touch my bangs!!”) She sends us text messages each time we run slightly late, demanding to know where we are and when we are going to be home and could she please sleep in the master bedroom instead of her own room tonight?

And right there, I know that my little girl is not lost to me. Yet. She still loves her morning cuddles, mercifully. And is still at the phase where getting her own room and bed is not as cool as getting to sleep with her sister and her Mamma on Fridays. She still thinks indoor playgrounds are super fun, even the ones with baby slides and sandpits that others around her seem to have outgrown. She might know most expletives (I made sure she knew them just so she knew to not use them – and also so if anyone else uses them she knows they are expletives) but still thinks that the bad S-word is stupid.

Which is why, on days when I feel like the world itself is spinning way too fast around me and I almost see time slipping away through my fingers regardless of how hard I try to hold on to it, I press pause on my own thoughts. I take a deep breath, ground myself, and take in that moment wholly, completely, and dare I say, mindfully. I stare at my little girls as if I am seeing them for the first time. I marvel at the twinkle in Momo’s eyes, the one that lets me know she’s up to something. I take in Mon’s lanky legs, and the way they seem to have a mind of their own. I listen to their voices, let their laughter fill all the crevices of my being. I open up my heart to be present, be fully present, because this is all that matters. Tomorrow I might blink and find the years melting away again, but we’ll cross that bridge when we come to it. Right now I have a Saturday yawning in front of me, hours to fill with memories and a swimming pool that’s beckoning us.