Quick.

Last night we had one of the girls up really late. Thirst, starvation and loneliness plagued her and the both of us gave in. She sat on Jake's knee on the couch and I nestled my back into the opposite corner and just watched them. They were playing rock-paper-scissors, but a much livelier version, containing hand signals, voyeurism and imaginary inventions.

She was laughing, loud, contagious, repetitive. He kept touching her hair, tucking it behind her ears. She was full of a bright light. She loves him. She learns about the world through he and I. I got scared then. Wondered if she'll stay close and listen to us. If she'll dye her luscious black hair someday. I know I'll be proud of her. I know I will cry at every mature turn she makes.

I wonder if they will ever know how much I watch them. Stare at them while they watch Ice Age and eat pretzels. Watch the light bounce down their forehead, cheeks and lips like a waterfall. How often I position the rear view mirror so I can watch my girls play and my baby fall asleep in her car seat.

I get a feeling that knocks me over, quick and stern. How fast time passes by.