One moment she holds my hand as though she will never let go and the next she is wandering off: to the dollar aisle, to talk to the closest kitty, to play on the patio by herself.

One moment she was in the baby swing swaying and the next she is racing through the yard as fast she can go.

One moment she'll be snuggled against me telling me to stay and the next she'll say Bye bye Mom. Go now.

One moment she'll stomp her feet and defiantly say I do it by MYSELF and the next she'll look at me with those huge eyes and say Help, PLEAse.

One moment she asks me why she isn't allowed to do something and the next she's telling me

what to do.

One moment she is picking me dandelions, the next she's informing me that purple tulips smell like grapes (and yellow ones like bananas).

One moment she is my baby. I always be your baby, Mama, she says. The next moment I begin to wonder if maybe she isn't becoming my big girl.

All in what seems like a moment.