Eight

Today, on the first day of her 8th year as a human being on this planet, I picked my daughter up for her Friday gymnastics class. The sun was shining; the rest of her friends were scampering off to their first afternoon soccer practice.

My kid had to make a choice earlier on: soccer or gymnastics. We couldn't do both. She was conflicted. Didn't want to disappoint her daddy, the beloved soccer team coach. Liked being with her friends at practice and the games. BUT, also really liked gymnastics. The flipping, cartwheeling, splits, balance beam.

"Noura isn't going to be in gymnastics today and Eleanor isn't either," she said. We both knew where they would be instead of flipping and jumping alongside her.

She climbed into the car, quiet. "I am going to be alone," she said.

"Yes. Today is the first day you won't have your two friends with you. That's definitely different."

Silence.

"Are you sad?"

Silence.

"Do you  miss soccer? You don't have to answer me now, but if you think about it and feel like you do, we can always see if we can switch. I can't promise that we can, but I can try."

Silence. And then...a wrinkled nose.

"Naaaah. I'm good."

Indeed you are, child. Indeed you are.