My Baby Girl

My baby girl is eight months old.



I can hardly believe it. It's gone by in the blink of an eye; so much faster than when Andrew was a baby.

Two-thirds of a year.

My mom and I have always been good friends. Sure, we had a few tumultuous years when I was a teen and a jerk less than understanding, but other that, she's been my go-to source for encouragement and support.



Will Caroline and I have that kind of relationship?

I really, really hope so.



I hope that she wants to share books, shoes and opinions with me. I hope she trusts me and admires me.

She's a toucher, oh she loves to touch! She'll reach for my face and pat, pat, pat. And she snuggles. She loves to lay her head on my shoulder and dig in.

Her hair is growing in a little and I like to rub on it. It's so soft and she smells good.



I love her fat thighs and her toes. I love the way she closes her eyes and sighs as soon as I pick her up to nurse in the middle of the night.



I won't wish these years away for anything in the world. But I'll be looking forward to watching her grow in to a little girl, a young woman.