Lately, my heart has been wandering around outside my body.
A few Wednesdays ago, I walked Indy into her first grade classroom. I watched her disappear into the cluster of new kids and it suddenly occurred to me that she knew no one. My heart was in my mouth. It was: new school, new teacher, new friends, new chapter.
And then a few days after that, she lost her second tooth. It was the bottom middle one, and when it came out, I held it in my hand before I found a safe place to keep it. The tiny tooth seemed even smaller in my palm than it had looked in her mouth. She left it under the pillow for the fairy to find, and she fell asleep, dreaming dreams about miniature winged creatures that fly into bedrooms through windows.
The next morning she woke up and read me a Dr. Seuss book, and we were half-way through the story before I realized that she was actually sounding out the words and reading.
All of these moments are like mini tidal waves in my heart and most days I ride the wave. I stand up and cheer for her when she comes home from school with stories of new friends; I clap for her when her tooth falls out and we celebrate the empty gap.
But sometimes, I want the wave to stop because it’s going too fast and the minutes are slipping. I want to make time move in slow motion so I don’t miss anything. I want to hold onto this: her voice telling me secrets; her hand in mine; her sleep full of sighs; her eyes when she first wakes up. I want to remember it all.
But I am aware that her little heart is growing bigger everyday.
And I am also quietly realizing that my heart actually left my body on the day that she came into this world and I now I know that it will probably never find its way back inside.
*this heart was made by the amazing David Olson. If you want him to make you a corazoncito, contact him at firstname.lastname@example.org