My baby girl is ten months old this week. She loves balloons, and stuffed animals, and chasing after the cat. She crawls fast and then sits for a quick break before crawling fast again. She pulls up on anything she can and then looks back to make sure you saw her, so proud. She kicks her legs when you pick her up, so excited. She babbles to her toys in her crib when she wakes up, so precious. She watches our mouths and tries to imitate words, so curious. She reaches out and touches our faces, so sweet. Our world revolves around her, and when she goes to bed in the early evening, I miss her. When I leave for work at 6am without seeing her awake, I miss her. When I spend my day with teachers and children, I miss her. The work day can’t end soon enough so that I can get to her and spend every moment we can playing together, swinging, climbing, crawling until it’s time for bed. Every night I pray over her that she will be strong, and brave, and confident, and kind, and generous, and smart, and creative. Every night I tell her that being her mommy is my favorite thing in the world. Every night I tell her how much I love her and how proud of her I am. I hope she always knows and feels that.