Dear Kate,

You climbed in bed with me last night--a bad dream.  You said the book you were reading, A Wrinkle in Time, "freaked" you out.  I reached out and pulled you in bed.  I held you close and listened to your breathing as you fell asleep.  It's been awhile.  I remembered when you were first born and we would sleep together.  You would lay curled up on my chest.  You fit neatly between my chest and my belly button.  I liked to have you there. Your Dad would wake up and tease me because you were never in the bassinet that I insisted was essential.  I would watch your chest rise and fall, rise and fall.  I would marvel at your tiny legs tucked so neatly underneath you.  I would gently run my index finger down the length of your back and stroke your head, your ear, your cheek. I would stare at your sweet face and wonder who you would be come.  Sometimes I would cry--loving you so much hurt.  I felt so vulnerable.  I realized I would do anything--and more than I thought I was capable of-- for you.     I wondered...would you ever twirl around for me in a pink tutu?  Would that fuzz on your head grow long?  Would you be stubborn?  Would we giggle over a chocolate chip cookie one wintry afternoon?  I would imagine us together--older.  But I could never really see.  It was beyond the scope of possibility in those quiet moments that you would grow or change.
You made me--reinvented me--a newly minted mother.  Last night, you could not fit on my chest.  I put my arm around you and held you close.  You needed me.  I layed awake and marveled at the beauty of you--arms, legs, ears, fingers, dirty nails--inhaling your "stink" as you would call it.   I find I am astonished at how much I love you.  It still hurts.