How is she nearly five
And losing a tooth?
It was only yesterday that the first one peeked through,
Surely?
How is she painting such exquisite, thoughtful pictures,
When last week we cooed over scribbles
And helped her hold the pen?
And she's learning to read, and when we bake cakes
She decorates them so carefully, and they're better than mine.
She's choosing her own clothes, and putting them all on,
And helping baby sister into hers.
She's challenging me, questioning me,
And though I'm so proud, every "why" scares me half to death,
Because she's no longer my baby,
She's finding and claiming and asserting her self.
She will be five, and there's a lump in my throat,
at the multicoloured candles on the cake,
So many...too many...
Too old, too soon.