Ode to My Daughter


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Her arms are long, flowing, and graceful. At the ends of each arm are hands that are wide, strong, and yet delicate. Each finger has evidence of nervous anxiety chewed into them. Those same arms attach to broad shoulders and a long torso that sits atop slightly curved hips. Her legs jut from those hips with the strength she’ll need years from now. Her feet– just like the rest of her, long, strong, and sturdy.

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My daughter. She’s a beauty that I cannot get over. I look at her and still ask God how I got to have her. She has a fight in her for which I cannot wait to see what it is to be used. Her love though, yes her love, she loves hard. How she loves, I see a little bit of myself, but a better version. Her love is unconditional. It doesn’t matter what her loved ones do, she still comes back to love hard.

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She’s independent. Yet needs her mom and dad. All day long she will be off doing her own thing. At night, when it is time to rest and wind down, she’s curled up on the couch between her daddy and me. When she’s sick or needs a little extra lovin’, that long and lanky body is able to conform and wind itself around my own squishiness.

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Personality wise, I see myself in her. Physically, though, I don’t see myself at all. She’s narrow, I’m wide. Everywhere that she is long, I am wide. Her hair is light, mine is dark. Her eyes are light, mine are dark. Her smile is more narrow, whereas mine is wide across my face.

I am grateful I have a daughter– to celebrate her accomplishments and to mourn with her during the disappointments. To do life together as we get older. Maybe we can change the world together?

 

 

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