This little bundle of pinkish perfection sprung onto the scene. That did it. I dosey-doed down the hall to HR waving my paperwork. My head was no longer in the job, but instead filled with visions of tea parties, painted toenails, hikes in the field wearing matching pink boots, planting tulips, Hannah Montana, and banding together with Ada against our growing testosterone laden family.
My son's wives are the closest I've come to having daughters. I call them my girls, but I can take no credit for their brilliance and beauty. I remember something my mother said: "It breaks my heart that neither of my daughters ever had one of their own because you girls are the joy of my life". Well, mama, I know you're watching from your center-court seat in heaven. This one is for ME.
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