There’s something so sacred about this in-between space—the space where your child is growing up right before your eyes, but still reaching for your hand.
Lucy just turned six. And lately, I’ve felt the quiet shift—these small but powerful signs of her becoming. She can now pour the milk from the fridge all on her own, memorize complex forms in her martial arts class, and surprise me daily with her logic, wit, and wildly imaginative play. At her pool party yesterday, she opened a gift—a terrarium—and exclaimed, “Mom! It’s 27 centimeters tall!” What six-year-old notices that?😆
She sets up thoughtful tea parties complete with signage and hand-drawn tickets. She belts out songs while dressing her dolls, choreographs dances in the living room, creates elaborate scavenger hunts for the whole family to solve, and makes trains out of boxes for the cats to ride on. She’ll grab a book and a dog (or a cat!) and disappear into a quiet corner like a full-grown adult with her morning coffee.
And yet… she still wants snuggles at bedtime. She still climbs into our bed each morning and declares she’s “Daddy’s girl” until breakfast, and “Mommy’s girl” the rest of the day. She still scoots behind me and grabs for my hand if she’s unsure of a person or place. She still looks at the world with wonder—and looks to us to help her understand it.
These moments are my gold. They are treasure found, and I’m learning to value them for exactly what they are: everything.
As she grows more independent, I’m resisting the urge to grip tightly in fear of what’s slipping away. Instead, I’m choosing to let each sweet, fleeting moment fill me with gratitude—and to let that love lead me gracefully through the next stage. I want to hold space for who she’s becoming without mourning who she’s been.
Because this stage? This beautiful, in-between, becoming stage? It is a gift.
And I’m holding on, even as I let her grow.
Raising Light 