On day three she called me “momma.” On day forty-four I framed a picture from a visit with her mother and set it on the eye-level shelf by her crib. On day forty-six she snatched it up, gave the picture all of her giddy smiles, hugs and kisses. On day forty-eight I had to replace the already love-worn frame.
This child, for better or for worse has my whole heart, all that I am and have wrapped up in loving well all that she has been, is and will be. When she calls me “momma,” she speaks a big, risky truth. When she kisses a picture of her mommy, her heart speaks the same.
She’s our girl.
Our girl with a village to raise her.
Our girl with a big, brave, beautiful heart.
Our girl. Exuberantly loving in new ways each day and oh so very loved.
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