Everything Will be Different After Today

Dirty diapers changed, potty training, dressing, school, all the lunches made, all the talks about friends, teachers, boys, drama, drama.
The crying, the yelling, the laundry!
I’ve dressed her, picked her up and cleaned her booboos.  I taught her how and when to shave her legs,
put on her first bra, I taught her about what her period. I was there when she had her first boyfriend. I cried with her when he broke her heart. I cried and hugged when she was happy, I laughed and cried and hugged her when she was sad. She’s been the first child I see in the morning and the last one I see at night.  She’s my first born, my eldest baby. She’s my daughter and I’m her momma.
But tonight I’m letting her go.  Tonight I’m relegated from mom, to mother of the bride, a title I now mostly share with a different woman across the room.  I bought her this lace, each fitting, and refitting, the veil, her beautiful hair.  I bought it all for her today so I could say goodbye and give her away.
“Momma, can you help button me up?” she asks?  I button each tiny loop as it works toward her beautiful hair. The bodice fits her body as if it was born for her this day.  The skirt billows from her waste tapering her as it cascades on the floor.
My baby is off to see her love today. She’s almost ready, my sweet honey.  “I love you” I say, and we both stare at each other realizing that everything will be different after today.

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