I watch her. More often than not, I find myself studying her. Two months shy of eight years old and I very rarely get glimpses of that baby she once was. I look but I just don’t see it anymore. I have to look at the baby girl on my walls, for even a vague resemblance.

Instead when I look at her, I see glimpses of the woman she will become. The little girl of now, is the woman of tomorrow. That’s a tall order as a parent: to raise good adults.

Tall, lanky, a natural athlete. No misspoken words, no more baby belly. She is helpful. God, she is so helpful. She is independent, opinionated, loud; loving, caring and kind. All of this and so much more describes her.

She walks with me these days. Just in the last few months, I’ve noticed this. She walks with me. Not ahead, not lagging behind, not stopping every two seconds to look at something, touch something. No, she walks with me.  We talk about things. Big things. Life things. We talk about the latest Hannah Montana show and who was mean to who on the playground; but we talk about adult things now as well. Sometimes I love it, sometimes I want to go back. It’s hard to explain huge things, bad things to such a small child. Then I remember that she is a child, but she’s become a woman. I won’t lie to her. I just can’t. Plus, she no longer wants me too. She wants truths. She wants to learn. She actively seeks knowledge, constantly.

I don’t have to tell her to look both ways anymore. In a parking lot, she automatically grabs her sisters hand. She keeps her brother from danger…which he easily finds, everywhere we go. She is an amazing big sister, even though she lacks patience with them sometimes.

She walks with confidence. Tall and proud.

She knows what she likes, what she wants and isn’t afraid to tell me. Constantly. However, she tells me, she doesn’t scream it at me anymore. We have gone nearly six weeks without a tantrum over nothing.

She is her own person, now more than ever. She has her own ideas, she knows what she wants to be when she grows.

She is becoming a woman. Slowly but surely. I see it when I look at her.

My baby girl, my first baby love. My big girl. My daughter.