I miss this girl, the one who was just about two and a half in this picture and loved a baby doll more than most anything.

I miss this girl, the one who named her favorite doll, Santa Baby, and dragged her everywhere we went.

I miss this girl, the one who I used to make decisions about, like haircuts and navy and white striped dresses with turtle necks and tights.

I miss this girl, the one who used to adore that pink blanket tucked in the old stroller and is now her little brother’s most favorite blankie.

I miss this girl, the green eyed vixen with the sturdy little body that is still little but a bit heavy to haul around easily.

I miss this girl, the one who woke me up so many years ago at 6am with a carton of ice cream and demanded help to open it.

I miss this girl, the one not old enough for preschool but could curse like a sailor, if only it was the name of her brother Russell said with fiery venom.

I miss this girl, the one that longed for a baby sister and when she got a brother, she conveniently forgot that she ever wished for anyone else.

I miss this girl, the one who has always made me laugh, a small version of myself.

I miss this girl, the one daughter I’ve been gifted, whose growing up seems to be whizzing by much too fast.

I don’t want to miss this girl.