I hold her in my hands. Seven pounds of pure love laying over my fingers. My heart swelled with each breath exhaled from her tiny lips. I have never loved anyone more.

She holds my finger. Sitting up for the first time, she searched what she knew of the world through wide eyes. Both of our hearts filled with wonder. I have never loved anyone more.

I hold her hand. Walking into her kindergarten class I hugged and kissed her and told her I love her. She giggled and said, “mommy, let me go!” She ran off to make a friend. I have never loved anyone more.

I hold her head. She thinks the first day of middle school will be the end of the world. Leaving loose curls in her soft hair I remind her that we have all done it. She laughs and says “Yeah ma, in the Stone Age!” I smile and hand over her bookbag. I have never loved anyone more.

I hold her close. She says she loves him as tears pour down her face. I stroke her hair and tell her he is not worth it. She swears he is. I go to scoop two bowls of chocolate ice cream. I have never loved anyone more.

I hold her hair. She thinks morning sickness must be the worst part. Handing her a wash rag, I decide not to burst her bubble. She gushes over genders and names. I have never loved anyone more.

I hold the phone. I hear kids running and laughing. Hear her stressed call for them to call out. She rushes out an “I love you” before hanging up. I can feel the distance. I have never loved anyone more.

She holds my heart. Lying in this bed, I reach out to wipe her tears. I know I will be with her forever and always. I kiss her goodbye. I have never loved anyone more.