12

 12.

The last year before everything shifts.
The last year before hormones and heartbreaks and the world asking them to grow up too fast.

12 is still stuffed animals on the bed.
Still giggles that echo down the hallway.
Still hugs that last just a little longer than they’ll admit to their friends.

12 is the in-between.
Not quite little, not quite grown.
It’s the last year you’ll ever feel them this small, and the first year you’ll start to see glimpses of who they’re becoming.

12 is sacred.
And it goes by quicker than you’re ready for.