ALWAYS WILL BE

Dear Spike:

I still call you my baby. No doubt I always will. But with each passing day, it's getting harder and harder to see you as anything but a little girl.



Some of the benchmarks are obvious:
• Your obsession with the swings at the park. "Not the baby swing, daddy," you tell me. "The big girl swing!"
• The way you contemplate questions and give meaningful answers. "Who is my girl?" I ask. "Mamma is a girl and me is a girl," you say.



But the benchmarks that are most profound are usually the ones that are most unexpected.
• The way you've taken to saying "yeah," and "nope" and "OooooKay!"
• How you sometimes sing yourself to sleep: "Imalida tea pot short and stout, heresmahanda heresma.... zzzzzzzzzzzzz!"



You're getting bigger, and taller, and heavier. Yet when I hold you in my arms, and especially when your head is resting on my shoulder, you're still my baby.



No doubt you always will be.

Love,
dad