I remember when I held you up to my shoulder - less than 24 hours old - and I spoke a pledge to you. I hadn't spoken a pledge to your sister, I didn't say a pledge to your brother... it was only to you.
I will be here for you, I said. We will do this, together.
I look into your precious face and I see so much of my blood coarsing across your face that it makes me even more worried. I know the pain I feel, the emotions I bear on my sleeve - the way I leave myself open and vulnerable... like Joan of Arc, wearing white on the battle field, I sometimes feel like I invite pain, like I have some sort of morbid fascination with ache.
I remember talking to your first grade teacher about how sensitive you are, like me, and we both cried, she and I.
I see the sunlight in your hair here, it was a foggy, hazy morning.
I think... oh, world, please be kind to her.
Please, people - be open to her unique-ness.
Love, come to know her. Stand beside her, within her.
Love - Her - Love.
My baby, not so much a baby anymore.