Today my little meatball turned seven.
2555 morning stretches.
2555 goodnight kisses.
2555 days traveling a dirt road off the beaten path.
A path on which, this year, we saw the greatest puppy ever known, chocolate chip pancakes and lazy Sundays anchored by nothing but bacon and feety pajamas.
It seems as if every year is just another year closer to further away... from me.
The meatball is my youngest daughter.
A lot of firsts for her were seconds for me.
I take less pictures. I shoot less video. I spend less time worrying about things I can't control.
Now I understand that these firsts that are seconds, are lasts.
I remember longing for the day that she would wipe her own ass. Why are her arms so short? It seemed like such a burden.
Now I understand that these are burdens that only the most blessed of people carry.
I wanted to be done with turning on the TV at 6am.
Let me sleep.
Now I wish she'd wake me up.
Like Sam Elliot said so eloquently in Roadhouse, "I'll get all the sleep I need when I'm dead".
A truth that resonates like only a truth can.
2555 days of growth for her and for me.
2555 days in the rear view mirror.
She's taught me that love is unique.
There really are no seconds.
For me, that's a first.