I was bathing Kate the other night (as I do every other night). Her hair was full of suds and piled up on her head.
She turned, and I noticed a few strands of hair curling down beside her face.
And suddenly I saw what she would look like on the day she goes to a formal dance. Or the day she gets married.
Her hair piled on top of her head, artfully curled, with one or two curls framing her face. Her smooth, light skin, her dark hazel eyes.
And it shook me, all the way to my core, as painful as a punch to my chest. It made my heart hurt — a good kind of hurt, the kind of love that speaks of being willing to live or die for a person. The kind of love that wants to hold on tighter than tight.
But knows that some day it has to let go.