Molly is going on a hike this weekend and needed new boots so we trekked down to the cheap camping store because I refuse to pay a fortune for a pair of boots that won’t fit her by the end of next week. Her feet grow at an alarming rate; she is already a half a size bigger than I am. Don’t be too shocked if Monday’s headlines report sightings of Big Foot in a wooded area north of Brisbane.
These were the hiking boots she chose, chosen definitely for comfort and not the fact that the laces matched her shirt. There is a grey set of laces that come with the boots but I bet they never see the light of day. Laces are a thing, you know, like socks and phone cases and who’s got Facebook already.
It’s a little difficult to cope with the fact that our year old daughter is going hiking with other thirteen year olds, on her own, no adults in close range. That’s nothing to worry about right? I’ve had to learn to let go and trust that everyone involved is invested in making sure that Molly stays safe. I’m torn, one part of me wants to say no and tie her to the couch before wrapping her in cotton wool where she will be unharmed, uninjured and absolutely bored ridged. The other part of me, the part that fist pumps the air with each major achievement she makes is so god dammed proud of how independent and clever she is.