Dear Girl,

At only four years old, your light is so bright. You are beautiful, kind, smart, strong, brave, thoughtful and tenacious. I consider myself lucky to be your mama and I cannot wait to watch the woman you become. As I tuck you in at night, you cut through my facade and access my raw heartbreak with your request for a baby. You have no idea I’ve begun to wrestle with the notion of dismantling our family. Already so smart, you’re not happy with my efforts to pacify you with “maybe someday” or “let’s talk about this in the morning” – my feeble attempts to buy time as I fight back tears. You are so unaware of the depth and timing of the question. “How do you get a baby?,” you probe. You are a make-it-happen kind of girl, and you love this life we’ve built for you. It only makes sense to you that another person, cut of the same cloth, would make it better. You, your older brother, your dad and me – it’s all you’ve ever known. For 15 years, it’s all I’ve known too.