She’s bubblegum and butterflies and ruffles and kittens.
Who knew that God made such girly girls!
She gazes up at me before we go out and points at my accessories one by one.
Then beaded necklaces go over her head and she poses coyly in front of a mirror.
She walks like she knows that she is a doll.
Delighting in her pink skirts in motion and the brush of her curls on her cheeks.
And she waves at strangers even if they don’t see her.
And practices “Hello,” and “Good Morning,”
while holding a toy car to her ear like a phone.
She requests that I acknowledge her troubles.
“Hurting,” she says and once I repeat, she goes on with her play.
And though I don't ask, she feels for my wounds too.
She mothers her doll, chants ditties while clapping.
Like a cat she sits on my books while I'm trying to read.
And she climbs into the driver’s seat to rotate the wheel and tap the center with one tiny finger while saying, “Beep! Beep!”
She wants to sit with the grown-ups, sit in the safety of my lap.
She melts in my arms after we’re apart.
Resting cheek on my shoulder. Little fingers patting my back.