Mama, slow down—my legs are too small, Mama, I’m not small—stop ruffling my hair, It’s messy now, and I pretend not to care. You laugh and say, “You’ll always be mine,” But I roll my eyes and race the time. Mama, my shoes don’t fit like before, My toes press hard, they’re sore, they’re sore! I’m growing fast—look how tall! I bet soon I’ll outgrow it all. Mummy, I can climb on the bed on my own, I don’t call out when the dark feels alone. I can reach the table without your chair, “See?” I shout—you smile and stare. Mummy, go faster, faster—watch me run! I bet I can beat the setting sun. Your hand feels smaller when I hold it tight— Or maybe I’ve grown? It feels so light. I hug you now, and something’s new… Your head rests here, where mine once grew. Mummy, I like ruffling your hair these days, It makes you laugh in the silliest ways. But why do you eat less than before? And why do you sit when I ask for more? You breathe a little heavy when we run, I win the races—I’ve finally won! But somehow winning feels so strange… Why does it feel like something changed? Mum, if you’re tired, I’ll carry you then, Like you carried me, again and again. But Mum—not yet—please walk with me slow, I’m not ready to watch you go. You call me big, but I don’t want to be— Not if it means you’ll need me like me. Mum, I’m not small… but could you stay, And ruffle my hair for one more day? ...mama?