All grown up

Do you remember her as
A quiet bundle, new to 
The world and small; you
Have seen her since, at
Eight, her knees scraped,
Shorts torn with patches
Of dirt, then defiant 
At 15, tossing her hair
Angrily? Do you remember 
The baby in her swaddles? 
As if no more than a week 
Had passed since you held 
Her? Your grown girl has 
Her own little one now, 
It's the way things turn