I'm going to make this statement fully expecting you to pull an Elaine and shove me half way across the room as you declare, "GET OUT!"
Hannah is about to graduate from kindergarten.
I know. Impossible, right? I don't get it.
... Basically, you're saying I successfully conceived and gestated a small female human, managed to rear her through her infancy (a phase we fondly remember as the projectile vomit era), navigated her through toddlerhood without a single fractured bone, refrained from sending her away to the circus during her "big girl" years when she steadfastly refused to wear anything other than a skirt or dress, held her hand, kissed her boo-boos, rocked her in my arms, swung her in circles, tickled her belly, read her every book in our household 36x over, walked away from her on the first day of kindergarten just in time to conceal my tears, and now... now her whole first year of school is done? Just like that?
In the past year she has achieved so much. Not only is she brilliant, with a story-writing ability that blows me away, and an endearing tendency to successfully complete math computations while still writing the numerals backward (she is her mama's daughter) - she has done something much, much more impressive. She has endured the splintering of her world and has begun to reconcile, insomuch as anyone can, the fact that her father has left her life. She has gone from a quiet, serious, watchful, cautious child to a gleeful, funny, stunning, witty, fast (she's a gazelle), grounded, inspiring, force to be reckoned with.
I am in awe of her.
Someone please tell me how this happened.