Slipping through my fingers

YEsterday reminded me of a song from "Mamma Mia" where Donna is lamenting how fast her daughter grew up and how the precious moments slipped through her finger.
While my baby girl isn't running off to get married this week, I know it won't be long, and yesterday was a bittersweet reminder.
Punk will be starting school next week.
Yes, she is two years old. Yes, she is young. She'll be entering a program designed for munchkins like her.
And, yes, my heart is breaking.
While I am thrilled for her, I am saddened that the baby I held for the first time only two short years ago is finding her independence and leaving me behind, holding onto a memory of baby smells.
While I know she will do well and learn, I know I will have to pry my fingers from her chubby hand to allow her to walk freely.
I know I will have to loosen my apron strings a little bit for her first real foray into the real world.
And I'm so sad.
And so proud.
And so close to tears just thinking about it, typing is a trick today.
Punk is my baby. The last. The child who is still attached to me via our umbilical bond.
So I will cry and smile and laugh and weep as I help her ready for her first day of big girl school.
And when I walk away, I will be blinded by tears and memories of my sweet baby girl.
And I will start gearing myself up for her wedding.
Because I now understand how fast time moves when you simply want to to freeze.
Slipping through my fingers all the time.