I made you.

Of that I am fiercely proud.

The beautiful miraculousness of what it took to get you here, growing, breathing, learning every moment, is not lost on me.

Well, not on most days.

I am impatient to meet the woman you will become and hesitant to let a single day pass.

Someday, I’ll have to try to explain all the unexplainable, unspeakable things about our world.

But not today.

I made you. You are my child.

But you only came through me.

You are moving, like cool water through my fingers, on your own divine journey.

There might come a day when you cannot forgive me. When you decide I don’t understand you. When we grow apart.

But today, I press your sun-kissed cheek against mine. I feel the warmth of your sticky fingers on my neck, my arms.

I feel you as a piece of my heart and see you as the singular, autonomous soul that you are who happens to be in my care for a time.