Slipping through my fingers

The other day I dropped off Elsa, my almost six year old daughter, at school. It was her last day before holiday, and as I said good bye she walked off by herself without asking me to stay as she usually would. I watched her from afar. Her tiny body, her big backpack, her gaze seeking for her friends. I slowly walked back to my bike with my heart so tender. Once I was back on the rode, a few tears came down my cheeks and I started to sing ABBA’s ‘Slipping through my fingers’ - a song which is about that moment when you, as a parent, suddenly realise your baby is growing up. 

I don’t want to reverse time. But to say I’m not feeling all the feels in regards to our kids getting older would also be a lie. Since becoming a parent I do have a different relationship to life - it’s so clear how nothing lasts forever - and I really do my best to be in, and embrace, each and every moment.

And yet, moments like this catch me off guard. They arrive quietly, in the most ordinary of mornings, and suddenly everything feels a little bigger, a little more fragile. It’s not about holding on or wishing things were different, but about letting it all move through me—the pride, the nostalgia, the ache, the love. Maybe this is what it means to witness a life unfolding right in front of you. To stand close enough to feel it, yet gently learn to let go, one small step at a time.