In Which My Daughter Becomes Me

After my sister and I drove my parents to the brink of insanity with our bickering, my parents finished the basement and moved her downstairs, and I had my very own bedroom in the northwest corner of the farmhouse. From then until I moved out of the house, the double bed was shoved into the corner, and most nights I spent a lot of time looking at the Big Dipper, the North Star, and Cassiopeia, having long conversations with God and myself until at last I fell asleep. Sometimes I woke up with the first blush of dawn on my face, the breeze blowing across the north field to cool me.

I miss those days.

Since Julianna got her new bed, she’s discovered the joy I once knew. I don’t think her view is nearly as inspiring–rows and rows of taupe houses and streetlights simply don’t compare–but when we come back from running in the morning, we’ll often see a heart-shaped face resting on a chubby arm, and we get a smile and a “haaaaaaaaaaiiiiiiiiiii!”

Two nights ago, we came upstairs to go to bed and discovered this.

My darling girl. So often I have no idea what is going on in that little head of yours. And yet here is the proof that you are indeed your mother’s daughter.