O: It is time to go to sleep, P, so you can grow big and strong like sissy.

O went to bed and woke up an inch taller. Her shoes don't fit anymore and her pants are too short. She can't even shimmy into her most recent bathing suit. She leaned out and shot up, her sweet round face morphing over night into the face of a girl instead of my baby.

She was walking away from me, and I saw in her gait, her length, her shape, the adult O, striding into the rest of her life, with my hair, her father's calves, and a confidence entirely her own.

When Jim sends me pictures of P via text, I first think that it must be O, with pudgy knees and fluffy hair, until I enlarge the thumbnail and find, my newborn there, looking all too much like a toddler. I swear, she was just born a minute ago. Or was it a year? Or was it nearly two?

Stop it. Both of you. I need a chance to catch my breath, to catch up. I feel like I'm missing all of it. Just stop it. Okay?