She's brilliant and beautiful and has a heart so big it makes you want her to stay little forever and not know that the world can be harsh and scary sometimes, because sometimes big and open and vulnerable hearts get hurt the most. She's like me, nose in a book and always creating and sketching, but builds like her other mother does and loves to know how things work and plays in the dirt. She carries a doll around that my dad gave her and named her Anna, and she says that Anna's her sister and we know that one day, we're gonna have to slow down all this madness we're in and give her a sibling for real, and we can't wait. She has freckles across her cheeks and nose, and fair skin and lips like a little rosebud and blue eyes, and she looks so much like my sister, but sometimes like me, and I can see her dad in her expressions sometimes, especially when she's being silly. She loves airplanes, and maybe wants to be a pilot, but maybe wants to be an actress too, and we tell her she can do anything she puts her heart and mind to. She's small, and always has been, and I still call her my baby and when I lean down to pick her up and hold her, I ask if she'll always let me hold her, even when she's an adult someday, and she says yes every time, though she reminds me she's not a baby (every time). And then I smile and tell her that she will always be my baby, and I don't know why this is, but it is.