pull an empty wagon as you run alongside. I wait at the bottom after you reply
“No, daddy” and climb to the top of the slide. No longer comfortable sitting in
my lap but nestled beside me, under my arm. That’ll be your spot for as long as
you want. I know the time will come when you’ll prefer to walk than be carried:
my arms will be relieved, but my heart will weep ceaselessly. I’ll continue to
encourage your independence as best I can, but to me, you’ll always be . . .
daddy’s little girl.