Leaving my mark

She is a nearly-blank slate, this beautiful little girl.
She is starting to make a few marks of her own.

But...

someone has to show her how.

So,

by the words I speak,

by the way I say them,

by the way I touch her,

by the way I treat others,

by telling her how proud of her I am,

by telling her what a great job she is doing,

what a beautiful, wonderful, smart, lovely little girl she is,

and that I will love her more than anything, no matter what,

by giving her hugs,

kisses,

attention,

and time,

I will draw on the slate that is my amazing daughter.

I want her to have the pieces that are missing from my own work of art.

I will tell her the things that I wanted to be told so badly.

I know how important these words are to a little girl...

And to a girl who is not so little anymore.

I have to be careful that my lines are drawn perfectly straight,

that my curves are perfectly rounded.

I hold my breath and pray

that I don't make any mistakes.

Because I can't erase any marks I make on this canvas.

There is no room for error with a responsibility of this magnitude.

I want her to love everything about the beautiful painting that she becomes,

and know that every mark I ever made

was with complete and utter love

for everything that she is

and will become.