Rock me to sleep. Listen to my cries. Stroke my forehead until they ease into soft whimpers and then quiet slumber. Set me in the basinet and then wonder, who will she be? When will she talk? Walk? Dance? Thrive?
Hand me paper. Teach me to write. Watch my thoughts appear in black and white and then question, from where did that come? What else resides under those blonde ringlets concealed behind gray-green eyes?
Hide the scissors. Put them up high. Protect me from myself, my clumsiness, my tendency to dwell in my head. Give me shelter, comfort, warmth and then worry, how will she survive in a rough and tumble world? Who will keep our dreamer out of the clouds and guard her from harm?
Witness the slow death of childhood. Feel the bittersweet tears run down your cheeks when you think I’m not looking. Marvel at the lightning fast turning of the clock and ask, why didn’t anyone tell us the final curtain would fall so soon? Understand that the innocent time must end. Bury it carefully in a time capsule filled to the brim with golden memories she visits again and again as she rocks herself to sleep.