(Mama Milton was born and she was afraid for her sanity.)
Then one day, you stopped screaming. There was a transformation.
I don't know how we lucked out; you are such a good kid. Yes, you are prone to tears over imaginary bunnies accidentally left on the bus. Yes, you are high octane emotional, but I know it's because you were born with such a big heart. I've watched you bend yourself into a pretzel, giving someone the benefit of the doubt. Not everyone in the world is so generous, so I worry about you; sometimes I wish you were a little grittier.
But then I remember when you were six and you saw a feature on TV about Locks of Love and cried until I promised to consider letting you donate your hair.
I know your Dad didn't want to sign on. It choked me up too. But how could we refuse? Your kindness moves you, and we are just along for the ride.
Lately, you've put away the tights and the skirts and the hair ribbons. You're older now and while you still love to write little stories and draw everyday - we keep the mill in business - you come home, rain or shine, and beg to kick a soccer ball or swing a tennis racket for an hour or so after school. I stand at the window and watch you undo the day at school, where you forced out of your introverted shell. You need a little solitude, to keep afloat. I understand that better than you know.
Girl Scout camp, 2006