She came down from upstairs, calling to me. “Wook, mom! Wook!“
She swirled her skort around for me, as she jumped and hopped in excitement over wearing actual official soccer cleats and shin-guards. My heart sped up, swelled and died all at once. She’s three-and-a-half and yet still a baby. And she wore this smile of pride alongside her jean skort and new cleats like one I’ve never seen.
Her first soccer practice. And her favoritest person is her coach (daddy).
And, as if that isn’t the awesomest thing ever, she practices right before her second-favoritest person ever (her brother), so he’s there for her practice, and she’s there for his. Anywhere he is, she is, and she likes it that way.
Perfection for her. Heartbreaking reality that time waits for no mom for me.
Oh, my heart.
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