Dear Sara,

You are napping on the couch.  You are so stinking cute, and I could watch you sleep all day.

Except that I just went into your room, where I found a cup of milk.  A cup of milk that had been sitting on your dresser for quite a while.  A solid cup of milk.

Sweet girl, I hope that God makes you a mommy one day.  I hope that because you will be a great one.  You are my Nurturer, the one who takes care of dolls.  You love babies.  And you often ask me questions like, "Do you just love being a mommy?"  At which point I look up from whatever exciting chore I am doing, see your little face, and always reply, "Yes, baby."

And I hope that God gives you a middle child.  I hope that middle child has almond-shaped blue eyes and kissable chubby cheeks.  I hope she is a Giggler.  And I hope she will snuggle with you anytime of any day for no reason at all.

And I hope, sweet girl, that when you ask that child who holds your very heart in her hand to clean her room, she falls into a helpless catatonic state.  She moans that she doesn't want to, that she just can't, that she doesn't know how.  I hope that when you go to help her you realize that the clothes you've lovingly washed, dried, folded, and given her to put away over the past couple of weeks have been shoved hastily into random drawers so that the mystery of the overflowing dresser is solved.  I hope that she leaves you little cups of solid milk.

But mainly I hope that by then you won't just lie in the floor with her and stare at the volcano of mess surrounding you.  Because if so, I may have to make a hotel reservation when I visit.

XOXO,

Mommy