Today is the big day. Her brand-new, too sweet for words blue outfit is on the back of the chair, waiting for her to twist and twirl. Her Billabong backpack (in a testimony to her love for the water and the waves she chose a surfing backpack over Hello Kitty or Clifford) is on the couch waiting for her to prance off into her classroom with hardly a backwards glance. Her zebra print lunchbox is packed with all her favorites. The only hiccup was the missing dolphin-shaped cookie cutter, so her sandwich is tragically cut in the shape of a heart. I’ve filled out all the paperwork and double-checked that my phone number is correct on her necklace badge that says how she’s supposed to get home and who to call if she’s found wandering aimlessly (or not so aimlessly knowing her) through the halls or on the playground or at the local ice cream parlor. Today is the big day. When she wakes up in a little over an hour, her brand new adventure will begin.
But, last night, she was still my baby.
