Me: What would you like to have for dinner tonight?

Hannah: Appletizers

Rachel: I think when mom grows up she’s going to be a teacher.

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Hannah: (as we were driving past an area we used to lived). When I lived here I was in Daddy’s tummy.

We are at my sister’s house. Earlier this evening I hadn’t seen Hannah in a while, so I headed upstairs to the third floor (renovated attic) where have been sleeping. I called up to her and she called back down that she was resting. I went upstairs and she was laying down on her mattress with her blanket, resting. She asked me to lay down next to her, I did and she put her face three inches away from mine and told me that she loved me. This caused her to giggle contagiously for a minute until she settled down and very seriously told me, “Fish do not have teeth.”

My dear Hannah,

I am writing this letter, from the bottom of your bed, watching you sleep. Your blanket, with the “wet side,” the corner that you’ve chewed and sucked to shreds, is wrapped around you and is rising and falling with each breath of yours. Your hair is damp against the side of your face. I can see the whiteness of your teeth through your parted lips. It is afternoon and you are napping.

“Stay with me.” you whispered to me before you fell asleep. You had just been crying. I rubbed my face against yours and saw the small bruise on your arm from the flu shot you had this morning at the doctors.

“Stay with me.”

And so I stayed.

The truth is Hannah, I would stay with you here forever at this very spot, watching the beautiful rose in your cheeks and the damp in your long eyelashes. I would admire the round firmness of your limbs, the highlights in your hair. I would nestle up against you to feel the wetness of your breath. I would wake to hear you whispering sweet phrases to me. “You’re beautiful,” you sometimes whisper in my ear. “I am proud of you,” you whisper again.

I would stay here, forever, my love, with you.

But I don’t want to be like Mrs. Darling in Peter Pan, who upon seeing Wendy at two years old put her hand to her heart and cried, “Oh, why can’t you remain like this for ever!” I don’t want you to have to hear my sighs.

I know how proud you are to be a big girl now. And I am so proud of you, too.

Why, you literally turned overnight into a big girl four months ago. We talked to you about getting a “big girl bed.” We set it up for you. You slept in it for the first night, and upon awaking sat underneath your covers and said “I don’t want anyone to take my big bed away.”

And no, I wouldn’t take your bed away and I wouldn’t wish my big girl back to a little girl. What a joy it is to watch you march ahead.

And literally, I watch. I watch your curve of hair fall towards your eyes as you cock your head with such seriousness and engage in important conversations that are randomly interspersed with sudden thoughts like “You are a girl” or “Daddy is a boy” or “I’m a big girl.”

I watch the way you pull your dresses down, so proud of wearing “down dresses,” dresses you insist on wearing that are two sizes two big for you and make you look like a lovely flower girl.

I watch you sharing so easily, so effortlessly. It is so graceful. It is surprising.

I watch you coloring and drawing with such concentration and precision. I watch you create the beautiful watercolors that you are so proud of.

I watch you doing your ballet move. The one where your right foot lifts back and bends upward as you put you hand on the couch to balance. “Beautiful,” I say, and you twirl around with pride.

I watch your posture, how your walk is suddenly so upright and intent, so determined, so proud.

I watch you do more than your motor skills will allow. I watch you and I silently cheer you on as I watch your silent frustration mingled with the firm belief that you are a “big girl.”

I watch the alarm on your face when an unknowing stranger calls you a “little girl.”

I watch your passion, your enthusiasm, and earthiness. You are so in tune with your the sensual world.

I listen, too.

I listen to your little vibrato as you sing “Goodnight, My Someone” to me.

I listen to your voice as you tell me about your mornings on the way home from school.

I feel.

I feel the rush of excitement as you leap into my arms after a morning of school.

I feel your little, smooth hand in mine.

I feel your tears, as I wipe them.

I feel your hair as I brush it from your eyes.

And I want to take that smooth hand in mine again and march upright with you, wherever you are heading.

And I want to meet that young woman that will one day be reading this letter. And I want to tell her that I love her….more than ever. And with each step forward, each inch grown, I only loved her more.

I come here, and I write you, dear Hannah. I write you into my Neverland. Not so you will never grow up, but so I can let you grow up. And every once in a while, I hope to open the windows and fly off to my Neverland. You can take my hand, and come with me, and we will sit in this big girl bed and hear me whisper back, “You are beautiful. I am so proud of you.”

Love, Mama