Six different people called her my baby girl today.
Family and friends and grocery shopping acquaintances alike, “Your baby girl is [beautiful… sleeping… so happy… so much fun… this precious thing and that].”
And yes, she was and is all of those things.
But mine? That’s the one that has my heart heavy and light, baffled a little, and oh so very full.
Because she wasn’t and in a way isn’t and someday won’t be but is indeed my baby girl; the beautiful, happy, fun, precious, (no longer sleeping but humming contentedly to herself in bed on the other side of the wall from where I’m folding her clothes) baby girl who calls me momma.
For such a time as this.