When Words Don't Stand a Chance

I'm sorry at how easily and often I slip into cliche, but I can't ever repent of this unabashed, unrelenting adoration for my daughter. I know a million mothers feel this way when they see the untainted twinkling in their tiny girl's eyes--the reflections of an unbroken heart.
I never claimed to be unique in this mother love.

I claim only her. She is mine, and that look--see that one there below--it is mine too. I gave it to her.
But the fearlessness, that is entirely her Daddy's doing. She takes a seat in the surf, looks life right in the eye. She scoops fistfuls of sand and tosses a thousand grains of "take that!" at the waves twice her size. It's all I can do to stand there and marvel-worry.

She smiles and giggles and splashes an afternoon away. And then I go back to sum it up, to choose my favorite snapshots. I stare forever at the images, crying like a crazy person, mute.

I can't say it any better or differently than a million other mothers. I can't even say it at all. I see her arms stretch out toward the ocean, feel her fingers wrap sandy around mine, hear her calling me to "come see!", and my voice trails a hundred years behind. My words don't stand a chance when called upon to keep up with the wonder of the moment.

Luckily, my heart's still in it, running neck and neck with the here and the now and this wonder I never want to shake.

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