"I got it!  I got it, Momma, let go!" she hollered while I ran alongside her.  For the hundredth time, I was running breathlessly with one hand clutching the bike seat, and one hand trying to compensate on the handle bar for her lack of balance.  I outweigh her by 25lbs, but it felt like balancing something twice my girth.  And now she was ordering me to step away.  And let her fall?  And let her shaky confidence shatter?  Scrape her knees and scar her pretty skin?  "Almost, Honey girl, you almost got it."  I panted.
But she wouldn't have it.  "No!  Just let go, Momma."
So I did.
And she did.
She biked her little old self down the street.
Folks, this is a big deal.  My 7 1/2 year old baby girl doesn't come by these milestones easily.
Earlier today we were practicing preK/K math, and then later I was faking patience while we puttered through basic phonics.  And she has these flashes of brilliance - she invents the most creative, and aadorable outfits, and this morning I found her huddled in the tiny linen closet where she had fashioned an art studio and was drawing a mosaic butterfly.  And on the other hand, there are countless times every day I say things I never thought I'd need to, like "Sweetie, we don't eat paper we find on the floor at Target.  Actually, we don't eat any paper, but especially not off public floors."  You know, things like that.
So, when my baby girl pulled away and rode effortlessly down the street, on her big girl bicycle, I indulged in a tearful Momma happy dance.