Tonight after putting my 18-month old daughter down for the night - and while my husband was still putting our four-year old down, I was flipping through Facebook and noticing all the Prom
pictures. My friends' kids. Nieces and nephews even. Beautiful faces and lovely dresses. Handsome boys. Excited faces. Nervous ones, too. Proud parents. Nervous parents, too. As I'm lost in a sea of
dresses, I hear her cry out. Huh? That's unlike her. She ate well. She's bathed. Has a clean diaper. Check. Check. Check. Cries continue. I slowly get up - hoping the slower I move maybe the cries
will fade. Or better yet, stop all together. But alas, outside her door, she cries again. I go in. Pick her up in the dark. Begin to rock her. She melts into my arms. Soon her breathing slows. I love
that feeling. You know the one. Her body so perfectly on mine. The smell. The breathing. The hair. Slowly rocking, I begin to talk to her in my mind. 'In 15 years you will be going to Prom. Half
smile, half sigh. You won't need me then like you need me right now. In 15 years you won't need me the same way. Sure, on Prom night you will need me. Just differently. You will need me to not
embarrass you. Not to take too many pictures. Not be too invested. Not ask too many questions. Just enough to know I care. Maybe a few glances from a distance to assure you - I want you to have fun.
It's ok. Everything's going to be alright.'
Her breathing has grown even slower now. Deeper. Now I don't want to put her down. I don't want it to end. This feeling. It's not Prom night tonight and she needs me. Today she still needs
the simple things that I can give. Not too hard to figure out. My embrace. My love. The safety of my arms tonight (more)