When I think about it, I can believe how much he has grown. It is me, the mother, who I do not recognize.

I’m in love with Montana. For other states I have admiration, respect, recognition, even some affection. But with Montana it is love. And it’s difficult to analyze love when you’re in it.

She will be successful because little sisters make fearless women, unafraid of failure and undeterred by defeat.

I promise to you that when I look back on you being two, I won’t remember today. I’ll remember you. And you are absolutely wonderful.

We tend to equate growing up with loss: a loss of innocence, of helplessness, of cuteness. But that’s not how children experience it.

I keep coming back to these tiny feet that belong to a girl who is going through the “terrible twos.”

What better word to hear than the one that links us together?

I have read that in order to get the little people in our lives to do what we want them to, we should offer them choices.

This seemingly natural reflex is new—wiping off his mother's kiss—and it was not something I had expected until years down the road.