My birthday came and went. Rosalita grows. Her hands move. Her eyelids flutter.
Sometimes, when she is in that place between sleep and awake, her eyes open to teeny tiny slits, and if you look directly at her and smile, she will smile back in her sleep.
I want to remember that.
As much as I may want to, it's hard to curl up into sadness when you have your own lighthouse--
your very own beacon of shining, golden light--
a little girl that smiles at you in her sleep.
The jagged rocks on the shore can wait.
(and they will wait)