Sam Davidson

These are things that I want to tell my daughter. Sometimes I do, and sometimes I write them down here.

We have these moments, you and I.

Tonight it was while I held you and walked in circles in our bedroom. Grandma and Grandpa were downstairs cleaning up dinner while your mom laughed at the TV. I walked endlessly with you in my arms until you began to drift off, the first signs of sleep happening right after that smile of yours.

I don't know what faraway hilarity causes you to grin, but when I see your lips curl up, I quickly think about a beaming smile that might be on your face on your wedding day, when you graduate, when I tell a joke, or when your friend does something funny. Your smile - like you - is in its infancy stage, but when I see it, I capture it as quickly as I can in my memory to store it where all good memories go.

It's so quick and unpredictable now. It's happens so fast that I can't document it on film. It can only be recorded in my mind to save for later, to think back to when you were little and I held you in just one arm and we walked in circles around my room. Because no matter what else happens, I can't wait to see you smile.