Runaway Train

My world was dealt a serious blow on Friday night.  Jazzy has a training bra.  Two of them actually.  My beautiful little girl ain’t so little no more.

It’s too soon.  No one asked me if it would be okay for Jazzy to start sprouting boobies.  No one cleared the schedule with me.  I’m not done with her yet.  I only get so much time with her in the nest and I have plans for her.  We have all these little girl things to do together.  Panic is setting in.

Soon it will be onto the next thing.  Boys.  Boys come after boobies.  That’s the way it works.  I know, cuz I’m a boy.  Boys will come after her, and they’ll want to get their hands on her, and the next thing you know, she’ll be loading up on baggage and high school angst and car payments and teenaged girl drama stuff.  And I’ll have no choice but to sit back and helplessly watch it all unfold like some kind of toilet paper memory stuck to a runaway train shoe in a bad boo-B movie.

With Jazz being so far away so much of the time, I really do feel helpless.  I want to be a bigger part of her life, but I still need to take care of the things that pay for my life in Regina.  And now the clock is ticking.  I feel like I need to hurry up and get all the memories in while I still have a chance.  I know there will never be enough time and I know I can’t hang onto the past, or I’ll miss out on even more memories.

Life just moves too fast sometimes.  There’s not enough room to fit it all in.  I’m in a big damned hurry to live inside each single individual precious moment with her, to let the hands fly off the clock, to let the laughter churn, and to be and be with her in loving memories.

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