She wakes from her nap with bedhead
and pillow creases on her cheek
then whispers, “When it’s gark out, Momma
coming home?” in toddler speak.
I know correcting her lisp can wait
for some other afternoon
so I brush her hair back and confirm,
“Yes, Momma will be home soon.”

When she learned to walk, we moved
our favorite books to a higher shelf,
but now she turns the knob, with two hands,
opening the door herself.
We joy and grieve her growth;
her infancy is never coming back
and someday she’ll ride off, on two wheels,
without my hand upon her back.