Every single night before I turn in for bed, I sneak into Lucy's room. I hold my hair back and quietly bend down to kiss her cheeks. I can manage five or six before she starts to stir, and then I whisper, "I'll eat you up, I love you so!"
A handmade quilt and hand-me-down pajamas. This bed, piled high with stuffed animals, is my bed from when I was a child. It now carries knitted blankets and a toy that shines the light of the stars on her walls. It carries dreams, both scary and magical. It carries my little girl in slumber.
This is what I would like to hold on to. These images, this light. This is what I want to carry with me when she, like me, outgrows this bed.