I'm in a constant state of battle with myself.
I desperately want her to stay little. I want to rock her to sleep, admire her chubby cheeks, and kiss away her tears.
I desperately want her to grow up. I want her to sleep all night without fail, to make it to the bathroom every time, and to zip her own coat.
It's the impossible position of a mother who has changed diapers for more than a decade. I'm simultaneously thankful that she is still little and thankful that she is growing up.
"I big now, Daddy," she announced this morning, nodding her head to acknowledge the seriousness of the topic.
Tonight at bedtime, she chose her cow footie jammies and shuffled across the floor to jump into my lap.
She's still my baby.