My husband records The Jimmy Fallon Show and if we like the guest or musical performer we’ll watch it after the kids go to bed. Sometimes I’ll show one of Jimmy’s hilarious lip sync videos to my daughters, and we’ll laugh ‘til our sides hurt. What I never expected was to see my younger daughter watching the show without me. But there she was, curled up on my side of the bed wrapped in my favorite lavender blanket.
“I thought you were getting ready for bed,” I said stifling a chuckle at the sight of her looking like such a mini Rachel.
“I’m watching Jimmy Fallon,” she said matter-of-factly, as if this was common behavior for a nine-year-old child.
I couldn’t help but shake my head and smile. “Watching Jimmy Fallon … in my bed … with my blanket!”
My daughter giggled. “I wanted to see Justin Bieber perform his new song.”
Now it made sense. “Well, we can watch it together tomorrow. C’mon, it’s time for bed.”
My freckle-faced girl with curls in disarray crawled out of my bed, her legs looking unusually long. She obediently clicked off the antics of Jimmy Fallon and made an announcement—almost as if she’d been reading my mind.
“I’m growing up!”
I didn’t know whether to laugh or to cry.
Just in the last few weeks, her grown-ness has been very apparent. The way she neatly organizes her excessive collection of Bath & Body Works products on her desk … the way she puts her completed homework back into her folder each day … the way she strums her guitar and sings with more confidence than ever before … the way she reads thick chapter books and rarely needs help with the words. And the obvious one—the way she comes up to my chin when she hugs me.