#NaBloPoMo Molly at Age Seven

She's every bit like a teenage pop music fan, and then I blink and she's my baby girl, snuggling up to watch a Tim Burton movie. She's a gossamer creature, thinnest skin and biggest heart. Her eyes go wide as moons with her tidal emotions- surges, so much like mine. She's so sensitive we worry for her but treasure that fragility too.

Those huge blue lake eyes peek out from under a wild mop of soft, weightless hair far too long in front. She won't let me cut it, and sometimes I lose the fight to clip that crazy fringe out of her eyes.

This morning's note with an Erzulie vévé.

She takes a tiny note from me to school each day to inoculate against homesickness. I fold it small and she tucks in into the cuff of her sock. It's a sweet ritual that makes me so aware that I need to cherish my youngster now while she's my wee one. She's saved all of her notes. She saves everything: Everything is special to her.

She won't give her teeth to the tooth fairy. She keeps them in a little china box.

I love her so much it stings. I love the night times, still my favorite part of the day. When she was a toddler I remember the wash of relieved quiet when she'd fall still after nursing to sleep. It was a long struggle to get her to bed. She still resists, chattering until I get frustrated with her. She says her brain won't stop thinking and let her sleep, and I know this feeling very, very well. Then she'll go limp and her breathing will be loud and slow and calm. An almost snore, or a real snore that's so tiny it's endearing.

I circle around her and rest my hand on her round belly that's from me too- even when I'm quite thin I have a pot belly. She's a world of soft sweetness and warmth and trust. Knowing that she feels unconditionally safe and content snuggled up against me brings me the most profound belonging feeling.

I love this so much, my little soul mate growing up and becoming such an amazing, quirky sweetheart.