Isabella

Whoosh. Whoosh. Whoosh. Our feet kick at the piles of leaves as we walk hand in hand up to her school. She smiles at some thought she's had and I notice again that she is a miniature me. She looks like a child I could have carried in my womb. I'm struck again by the wonder of that.

But there are other things, too. Her heart mirrors my own in so many ways. Her love of books and music. Her domestic streak. The way she wears her feelings on her sleeve. Her penchant for lying to get out of trouble, which is really more about being afraid to disappoint than it is fear of the consequences. Hers is a heart that will be broken because she dares to share it. I just know it. And my heart winces preemptively at the thought.

She has grown up this year before our very eyes. Limbs have grown long and lean, a ballerina's body, and in her face we have started to see glimpses of the grown up girl she will be. A girl who moves into life slowly, more thoughtful, in a way that makes room for the hopes and dreams of others.

Sweet Bella, we've called her. A name that means beauty. She wears it well.


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