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sad-1.jpg Baby holding finger image by cutie_pie2you

I entered her room and turned off her nightlight. Her hands lay softly opened, palms up, as if she’d fallen asleep in the middle of a bank robbery. I told her how truly special and important she is – I hope that somehow my nocturnal ramblings will engrave into her psyche and give her an innate sense of confidence.

As I pressed her hands to my lips, she clasped my fingers in a tight clench. What a surprise! I thought those first months of life, when as a baby she’d hold my finger in a firm grip were long gone.  Now, age 7, she is knee-deep in the scholarly concepts of scientific method, iCarly, and the indecipherable difference between reality and fantasy.

With each passing year I mark the loss of her important childlike ways. Little by little her mind expands and accumulates information that pushes her toward self -reliance and independence.

I am glad for her progress, but I miss my baby.

I know now though that I can find her inner child in the quietest hour of the night, when her sleep is deep and house is at its stillest. And this makes me happy.

September 19, 2010