Outgrown.
A rhetorical question for the ages, a fear not often addressed. What a selfish motive must we have to overlook the very possibility that our children outgrow us. Like a pair of pants on the basement, bathroom floor. A reminder that they were too small, as well as the shower this morning unable to hold two people, her overused pants, unable to hold two buttcheeks. If you stare long enough at a pile of laundry, it becomes something. Mine became a realization that my time is expiring, if I let it. Not in terms of time because none of us know when that ends, but without a comparative measure could we know if our time is any more expired than anyone else, as in percentage complete. This thought was much more devastating than that. This thought was about her. My daughter, close enough to three to tell people, yet lacking the full development that three year olds have. Certain characteristics, balance, physical and mental, ability to notice certain things, as gifted as we, and all pa...