I’ve just kissed my little girl goodnight. She’s tucked up nice and snuggly in her pink princess bed and she’s hugging her teddy bear. Her eyes close, and I’m sure that by the time I’ve blown her a kiss from the doorway as I leave, she’ll be asleep. She’s only 5 years old.
Tomorrow my little 5 year old girl won’t exist any more.
I’m certain she’s looking forward to tomorrow, even dreaming of it. Tomorrow it’s her birthday and she’ll turn 6, and I won’t have a 5 year old daughter any more. My little girl will be a step closer to adulthood.
A “step”? Overnight her yearly count goes up a yearly increment, but in reality she doesn’t age a year in a night; there’s a natural gradual progression. It’s natural to age, to grow old, and then to cease in physical existence.
Time marches on, but in summation of infinitesimally small steps. Steps like the minute hand of a clock which doesn’t appear to move when you look at it, but after a few minutes you see that it has.
Time flies, it passes us quickly without us realising. Before I know it my little girl will be grown up. Going to school, university perhaps, getting a boyfriend, and then the day when she’ll tell me she’s getting married. I’ll walk her down the aisle and “giver her away”.
And I’ll ask myself again: Where’s my little girl gone?
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