Pride wells up within me, the same sense of accomplishment that used to come over me when the girls, as babies, were weighed in at the pediatrician's office and had gained a few ounces or pound since the last appointment. I'd nod to the nurse calmly, but inside I was vigoriously patting myself on the back and planting a kiss on my own forehead.
Would you look at that? That kid you've got there is growing! You're doing it!
And every birthday, I think the very same thing.
Do you see that kid there? The one with cupcake icing on her face? She's growing!
This envigorating and exhasting, glorious and mundane, personal and universal, joyful and terrifying thing called motherhood -- would you look at that? -- I'm doing it.
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