In the early morning hours in the rocking chair, slowly moving back and forth, her downy hair against my chin, her warm little body snug against mine. A time of dreaminess, half awake from my own slumber, and softness. I leave her room, she back to sleep, and I am struck by the fragility of this parenting experience. How fragile I can feel in my children’s presence, how this sort of love breaks and mends your heart at the same time, how you don’t want more moments to pass and have them get bigger too fast, grasping to keep childhood alive in their little hearts and minds for as long as possible. The constant balance between being their rock and letting them go into the world. It is such a thin branch between the two necessities. In the early morning, when I am rocking Bee, I try to keep everything slow and just be present in her baby company. I take mental photos to store away for the years to come about how it felt to hold my daughter in her most vulnerable and innocent state.