I listened to my daughter brushing her teeth

Dear Delyara, The sound was ordinary. Water running. Cupboard opening. Toothbrush against enamel. A child becoming older in one of the most routine ways possible. And still I stood in the hallway for a second longer than necessary. Because that is what this stage feels like now. They are still mine. Still here. Still needing me in crucial ways. But so much of their becoming happens behind doors I no longer enter without knocking. Their moods, their embarrassment, their friendships, their private rehearsals of selfhood — all of it now lives half in my world and half in some new room they are building without me. It is a strange grief. Beautiful and painful at the same time. I think parenting older children is often exactly that: standing near the door, listening to life continue without being invited into every part of it anymore, and loving them enough not to force your way in.