Her little arms reached up to me and I scooped her up without hesitation, a routine we’d done a thousand times. She fit perfectly on my hip, my arm around her waist and her head rested gently on my shoulder.
I picked her up when she was hurt. I picked her up when she was excited. I picked her up when she was tired. I picked her up when she was too little to see what I could see.
And then one day I put her down and never picked her back up.
One day, without me realizing it, she got too big. Too big to scoop up. Too big to rest on my hip.
One day I put her down and never picked her back up.
One day, without me realizing it, she got strong. Strong enough to carry on when she was tired. Strong enough to comfort her own pain.
One day I put her down and never picked her back up.
