Sweet baby girl,

You’re only two and a half years old, and I’m not getting any younger, so I figured I’d write down a few of our amazing moments before we both forget them.

We started off our day, as usual, stuck in heavy traffic. It takes us an hour an a half to go 13 miles (”I love L.A.! No, really. I do!”) But we don’t mind. It’s our quality time. We count, learn colors, and play, “Mamma, what that?!”

But I was running late this morning and you were feeling rushed. I told you, “Emma, I’m sorry we didn’t get much time together this morning. How about we have a giant hug while we walk into school?” And you replied with an enthusiastic, “Yeah, Mamma!”

The whining stopped and the singing began. We were groovin’ to one of L.A. Daddy’s infamous mix discs and I forgot about our promise. An hour later, I pull you from your carseat and you glop onto me with both arms tight around my neck. You squish your face against mine. We morphed into one. You didn’t forget.

We work our way through your daycare with our faces plastered together. All your friends scream, “Hi, Emma!” But you’re focused. Determined. The hug continues all the way to your classroom. And I started to lose all feeling on my right side.

As soon as we arrive, you release your death grip and scamper off. After two steps, you turn and proclaim, “Bye, Mom!” and off you go. My heart melts and I forget I’m 20 minutes late. God, I love L.A. traffic.