A love letter to my 4-year-old daughter, aka “Brave Girl”

I do not mean to suggest it's all rainbows and cupcakes. Of course there are times when it is grueling and heartbreaking and dull. But I am a better person for being her mother.


I am walking home from daycare with my daughter and I am wondering, "What's that feeling?" "... that intense pounding, that rush, that I'm feeling in my chest, in my bloodstream?" "Oh," I realize. "That's love." It is so intense, this feeling, that sometimes I can't contain it. Sometimes I think it will rush out of me like teenagers at a party when the police show up -- and it can feel just as awkward as this, as gangly and pimply and dumb and joyous, high on wine coolers and being felt up, as out of control, as unprepared, as fresh and urgent and important and confusing and intense.