My Daughter

As I look at her sleeping I'm transported back in time to 1983. My daughter was a toddler then and watching that beautiful baby sleep was the most wonderful thing in the world.
Now she's 25. She's so beautiful. She's lying peacfully on her right side, the heavy hotel blanket tucked around her waist. She has a pillow between her arms that is cradling her head and her breathing is soft and rhythmic. The sunlight is peeking through the window. It's whispering gently across her face casting a faint glow on the bridge of her nose and over her brow. She had pulled her hair up last night before getting into bed and some of her thick, auburn curls have made their way out of confinment and are resuming their job of framing her delicate suntanned face.
She's dreaming now. Her eyebrows are knitted together and her expression is pained. I want to wake her, to save her from the unpleasant experience, but truth be told I WANT THE SHOWER FIRST!
Ok, now I'm out of my nostalgic mood and sitting squarely in the middle of reality, the kid stole my pillow last night, She's right in the middle of the bed and it's almost 11:00 am. Wake up already I'm ready to get out of this hotel and back on the road. I'm starving!
All that aside, she's still my baby and I find myself tiptoeing around lest I wake her. Part of that is remembering how wonderful she is whilst sleeping, so beautiful, so aristocratic, and so perfect only to be reminded upon waking there is no taming the shrew, well at least until coffee.
I love my baby, she is the best and the worst of myself.