Is my baby really crawling? Is she really pulling up on everything, making pterodactyl noises, and reaching for me?
Is this crazy, spirited girl who licks her chops while I eat — and bites the shit out of me when she eats — really mine? When I hear her warrior battle cry, I laugh and then hope that she will grow up to be hearty, steadfast, and powerful.
I think about the complexities of making a person and how she could have just as easily developed into someone else. But she was born our girl — our spunky, silly, delectable daughter.
When I feel the weight of her in my arms, I swear I could fly.