Last week I was back at the Paradise Pier Hotel at the Disneyland Resort. This time, Zoe was quite old enough to go on the waterslide, which is a good thing, because I usually do not have the resolve or energy to battle her. Zoe was the first one on the waterslide of the group of kids with me this trip. No surprise there.

The surprise is, last time I was at the Paradise Pier waterslide I thought I was done having kids, I thought I had packed the last set of floaties.

Not so. Another little girl came along in 2005 - and she, Melia is a couple months older now than the age Zoe was when she took the waterslide law into her own hands and rode it all the way down, despite being told no by the lifeguards of the Paradise Pier Hotel. If Zoe is Esther Williams, Melia is Audrey Hepburn.

That was then, this is now.  Melia likes to walk gingerly around the edge of the pool in her Ariel swim diaper, eating chips, chasing dragonflies, and saying "Hi Guys!".  She doesn't swim.  At all. The other four people in our family frolic, splash, and live in the water...but Melia prefers the sand, the poolside, or being dry.  Who knows?

So when we got to the waterslide and Melia wouldn't even wade in the baby pool in front of the waterslide, I grabbed a Diet Coke and prepared myself to walk behind her at .0006 miles per hour as she inspected the new pool she found herself at and waved to strangers. She began climbing the steps to the waterslide - she loves steps and climbs them whenever she sees them.  Tons of monotonous, repetitive fun. When we got to the top of the steps, where waterlogged siblings Alex and Zoe waited their turn, Melia waved, said "Hi guys!", but then paused, looked up at me, pointed to the waterslide launch pad, and said, "Me, go!"

I was stunned, proud, excited, and scared to death. I had practically chanted Zoe on as she slid down younger than Melia, why the hesitancy now, with Melia clearly ready and choosing to slide on her own?

She's the baby, that's why.  My last one. Ever. She could slide, I would hide. I try to never discourage fearlessness, which is why Zoe took her first 3 meter high dive at age 3.  True story.

"Can I go on the slide with her?" I asked the younger than most lifeguard.

"'Fraid not. We've had kids younger than her go on the slide alone before."

Yes, I know. I was there!

So the baby of the family, the delicate, pensive, Melia sits on the top of the slide, hands by her side, smile on her face, and completely unaware what she's getting herself into. But she goes, and I let her.

First turn she takes, I can't see her. I wait a few seconds then spot her, but she is no longer sitting. I spy a curly little black head in a pink one piece bathing suit, sprawled out like she's doing a jumping jack.  She is in shock, she looks traumatized, but she is awkwardly smiling. And she's almost at the bottom. Wait - I'm not at the bottom to get her!

That's okay - there is her big brother to get her, waiting at the bottom proudly.  Before she's even reached the last foot of the slide, actually, Alex has scooped her up and is holding her in the air.  "Yeah Melia!  Yeah Melia!  You did it!" he chants to her.

I'm at the bottom of the slide in a flash.  Melia is wet, but not drenched. Her lower lip is quivering, but she's not crying. She's holding on tightly to Alex, but reaching for me.

Still a baby.  Love that feeling.  Took a big kid step toward freedom.  Wants the comfort of an embrace now. I gotcha baby, I gotcha.

"Want to go on the slide again?" I ask her.

"No," she utters in her baby voice, very assertively though.

That's okay.  She's not Zoe, but she's got her strong example to follow.  She's not Alex, but she's got another boy besides her Papa to rescue her from choppy water. She's not going back on the slide, but she tried it with confidence, by her own choice. She's Melia, and whoever she becomes, she'll always be the baby.

"I'm not the baby, Mom, I'm eight years old," or, "You said I was a big girl, Mama, why do you call me 'baby'?" No matter how old they get, they'll always be my babies.

When the waterslide becomes the first day of kindergarten, or the first date, or graduation, or broken heart - God, help me be as calm and assured as I was letting her (them) go down that slide. It's their rite of passage, but I'll make it better for them if I can see the big picture - and when I know there's someone who cares for them at the bottom waiting for them besides me.

It's their rite of passage.  They won't be denied.

That's my girl(s).  That's my boy.