She is restless in her room today.  I go to her.  I ask her if she wants to nap with me, instead.  Rules are meant to be broken.  She follows me to my room with her pink fuzzy blankie.  We lay Yin-Yang.  She says she wants her toes on my pillow, so I lay on my side, facing her.  She rests her head on my bent legs.  She curls in to me.  She won’t fit here for much longer, I think.  She notices shadow play on the ceiling.  “It’s the sunshine through the curtains, baby girl” I tell her.  She murmurs understanding as her breathing regulates and deepens.  Christmas doggie peeks out from her blankie, tucked in carefully beside her.  I decide I don’t want to sleep anymore.   The view is too tempting.  She falls asleep swiftly, comforted by my presence, but not as much as I am by hers.  The soundtrack is Cooper’s muffled conversation in the backyard.  From snippits I can tell he is telling a neighbor about first grade.  The leaves are rustling in the breeze.  The curtains float, allowing glimmers of sunshine through that paint gold swatches on her hair and highlight the roundness left in her cheeks and the remaining chubbiness of her hand.  Hands that grow longer and leaner every day.  Too quickly for her mommy, but not quickly enough for a baby girl who longs to be a big girl.  I pray that my memory is a strong enough video recorder to save these moments.  I dream that they can be replayed many times, this relaxation tape for my soul.  I dare to brush some damp hair away from her eyes.  She sighs.  I gaze.  Pure love.