It’s the end-of-the-year craziness and the other night we had to drop our baby (4th grader) off at her teacher’s house for a class party—-she is THE coolest teacher!! Walking up to the group gathered on the front lawn and to say a “howdy” prior to making a break for the band concert with our 7th grader, I subconsciously put my hand out for our little girl to hold on to…which she did….and then——she let go. She. Let. Go. WHAT?!?!?!? THE?!?!??!! WHAT?!?!!?!? I’m still reeling from this. This girl-child. Our baby. Is my shadow, my velcro-baby, the youngest, the diva, the high-maintenance, quality time, physical touch, child. And sometimes I just don’t want to be touched. Sometimes I need my space. Now. I’m thinking I may have gotten my wish as she crosses over to the too-cool-to-hold-hands-with-my-mom age. I’m dying inside. Dying, I tell you.