Tucked just below a small bow on her neckline are her hot pink nails, a reminder to me of how much girl runs through her veins. Her eyelashes hover over the top of her cheek and when I trail down a tad, I find a that cute little mole. Her skin, it’s creamy and perfect, unblemished by acne or scars that promise to come with future hormone changes. I will hate that time for her. And for me, because it will most assuredly test our relationship.

I do not hurry to my phone or think of how many minutes until the school bell. I care nothing of the forecast or what e-mail will need my reply. Instead I memorize the curve of her nose, the ruffle of her hand-me-down jammies around her wrist, her smell. The bangs I trim, the ones she scoots across her forehead when she’s coloring or after doing somersaults, lay ever graceful above her brow.

I’ve been a parent long enough to know these moments matter, and will not last. I will forget, and then someday ache for such early morning cuddles.

Don’t pass quickly, time. Slow your hurried self. I’m just so in love.