Suddenly my six year old (six years old, minus EIGHT baby teeth as of this week) doesn't want ME to be too clingy on drop-off.
At the entrance to camp, Clara tells me where I can stand to watch her walk away. I am told I can stand there until she turns and waves and, at that point, I am to leave.
My little girl, toting a vast pink backpack, dismisses me in the mornings with a businesslike wave over her shoulder and (only if no one is looking) a furtively blown kiss.
What a big girl. (What a tiny girl, with a huge backpack.)